The Balancing Act
by T. Z. Townshend
Summary: Or: Sonata for a Legacy in C Major. It's difficult being the world's only consulting detective and a widowed father. It's also difficult being the only consulting detective's daughter, especially without a mother to fill in the gaps where the father is lacking. Established Sherlolly and Worstan. Parentlock.
1. Dysfunctional

**A/N: Hello! This is my first real Sherlock fic and so I hope that you will be merciful in your judgement of this. A couple of notes regarding the plot and characters. You may notice some little changes in Sherlock's outlook on things. It would be very hard not to change if one considers he got married to Molly had a kid with her. Now, before anyone says anything, let me explain about the child's name. Ceridwen is an actual name. It means "beautiful poetry" and comes from the Ancient Welsh Goddess of Poetry. I found it when looking up rare British names for the character. I figured Sherlock wouldn't want to name his child anything commonplace like "Elizabeth" or "Lily" and it seems to be a trait in the Holmes family to have a rare British name. If all goes well, this should not only be a multi-chap, but also a multi-arc story revolving around Sherlock's problems trying to be a widowed dad and his daughter's subsequent psychological/emotional issues as she grows up. There will be featured flashbacks of when Molly was still around to supplement plot points. This explanation is getting too long. I'm going to shut up now and let you enjoy the story.**

**WARNING: This chapter contains mentions of bullying/minor violence between children.**

Chapter 1: Dysfunctional

For most children, coming home to find one's father putting a quart of blood in the fridge would be horrifying, but Ceridwen was no ordinary child. Her father was Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, and growing up with him was most often anything but dull, though that didn't stop things from being plainly domestic. Upon hearing the nine year old enter the flat, the man turned to smile at her.

"I see I should be expecting a call from the headmaster." he observed. It was clear to see that his daughter had been in a fight for the second time that week, going by the traces of dried blood at the corner of her mouth and the slight limp in her gait.

"Annie Anderson is very keen to hurt me. All I did was point out that she was the one stealing candy from the jar under the teacher's desk." Ceridwen explained as if Annie's logic was completely incomprehensible, causing Sherlock to laugh, though silently he hoped that she had not been hurt too badly in places hidden by her coat.

"Did you get in a few good swings?" It was well known that there was a history of rivalry between the Holmes and Anderson girls, passed down from their fathers. Sherlock didn't mind at all if his daughter used excessive force to defend herself against her nemesis.

"She has a very hard face." was all the girl said in response before removing her coat, setting her school bag down next to the coffee table, and plopping down on the sofa. Taking up her laptop, Ceridwen flipped it open and started reading John Watson's latest blog entry. Sherlock never bothered asking her if she had homework as she always finished it at school. "It says here that you and John were chased down the street by a man with a paintball gun." Ceridwen suddenly said, raising her eyebrows. Sherlock looked over at her with a smirk.

"You'd run too if you knew the paint was laced with a deadly poison absorbable through the skin." He was looking at his own laptop now, reading emails from potential clients. From the corner of his eye, he could see Mrs. Hudson coming up the stairs with a bag of groceries.

"Hoo hoo." she called as she always did to announce her presence. "Sherlock, I brought some things since the fridge seems pretty empty of food." the old woman said cheerfully and Sherlock thanked her absent mindedly. "Oh, hello, deary. How was your day?" Ceridwen smirked sarcastically at this, but flinched at the pain the gesture caused.

"Oh, dull, as usual. Got sent to the headmaster's office again." Before Mrs. Hudson could say anything in response, Sherlock's phone rang loudly. "Speaking of which..." the girl muttered.

"Hello, Mr. Smith...yes, I know...she tells me it was self defense...I am fully aware of that...I suggest you stop wasting your time talking to me and give _her_ father a call. It's _his_ daughter who is the problem, not mine...yes, goodbye." Sherlock spoke in a falsely cheery voice before hanging up and muttering "incompetent". A moment later, he received a text from Lestrade and smirked upon reading it. "Right, I'll be off, then. Lestrade has a rather promising case for me. I won't be back for dinner. Mrs. Hudson, please make sure Ceridwen remembers to eat something. You know how caught up in her writing she gets." he announced as he got up to grab his coat and scarf.

"Can't I come?" Ceridwen asked, her raven eyebrows forming a frown. Sherlock shook his head.

"It's a school night. Do you really want to spend the night at Scotland Yard and have to ride in a patrol car to school tomorrow morning?" At this, Ceridwen made a pout face. She never actually got to go on cases with her father. When he did let her come with, it always meant she would only be hanging around Scotland Yard, watching whatever was going on there. Lestrade told her that the reason Sherlock never let her go to crime scenes and such was because he was being protective and didn't want her to get mixed up in anything. "Don't look at me like that, young lady. Enjoy watching crap telly with Mrs. Hudson." With that, the detective left 221B and flagged down a cab.

* * *

The moment Lestrade told him to sit down, Sherlock knew there was no case, which made him particularly miffed, but he was curious enough about what Lestrade wanted that he obliged, taking a seat next to John.

"As I imagine you have already figured out at this point that there isn't a case, I'll cut to the chase. John and I thought it would be nice, since she is turning ten tomorrow, to throw Ceridwen a little celebration." Lestrade told him. The dark haired man narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, clearly not expecting this from his friends.

"It's no more special than any of her other birthdays. It simply marks the day she has been around for exactly a decade."

"Yes, well, that aside, we thought she might need a little extra help not thinking about..._you know_, especially since it'll be the five year mark." John elaborated, refraining from saying 'Molly's death', knowing Sherlock would not react well. The consulting detective did not answer for a long moment and simply stared at Lestrade and John with the most serious of expressions. He was clearly considering their words very carefully. On the one hand, he appreciated that his friends were showing such consideration for Ceridwen. On the other hand, accepting what they offered would mean admitting to himself that his daughter might not be strong enough to deal with the heavy reminder of her mother's death. It was bad enough for him, but he could only imagine the pain it would inflict on the child's mind.

"Ceridwen's a good kid, Sherlock. We're just trying to help." Lestrade added reassuringly. He'd known Sherlock's daughter ever since she was born, even occasionally acting as her babysitter and even though she could be as socially inept as her dad at times, he genuinely liked her and was sort of like an uncle to her.

"Very well. What were you planning?" Sherlock answered finally.

* * *

Ceridwen had not expected Sherlock to be there when she got up the next morning, but there he was, lounging in the sitting room in his pajamas, sipping a cup of coffee and reading a newspaper. Obviously that case hadn't been as interesting as he had hoped. Not feeling the need to say anything, Ceridwen went over to the cupboard in the kitchen and grabbed a granola bar. This sort of thing happened a lot, them going about their business without saying a word to each other. They weren't angry with one another or anything, they just didn't feel the need to fill the room with meaningless conversation. Ceridwen prepared herself for school and as she put on her blazer and then her coat, Sherlock came up to her and gave her a quick pat on the head. She gave him a smile and went out the door.

Ceridwen spent her day at school exchanging glares across the classroom with Annie (who sported a small bruise on her right cheek). On the playground after school, she sat quietly alone on a swing, waiting for Dean Watson to come out and meet her so they could walk home together. She was deep in thought as she watched her breath mist in the freezing air. Seemingly out of nowhere, she was grabbed from behind by her long, dark curls and pulled out of the swing roughly.

"You got me sent to the headmaster for the second time this week! Why can't you ever keep your mouth shut, freak? Why did you have to go and tell Ms. Aston?" Annie Anderson hissed, pushing the dark haired girl to the ground. It aggravated Ceridwen's injuries from the day before and she let out a groan of pain. One of the two of Annie's friends who were also there pushed Ceridwen over.

"Leave her alone or you'll get in more trouble!" a male voice called and the girls looked up to see Neil Lestrade and Dean Watson glaring at them. Annie and her friends wouldn't have paid any mind if it was just Dean, but Neil was sixteen and very capable of stopping them. They responded by running away and Dean offered Ceridwen his hand to pull her to her feet. Despite her stubborn nature, she took it and once she was on her feet, she quickly let go of his hand to brush snow off of her uniform.

"What are you doing here, Neil?" she asked like she didn't just almost get beat up for the third time that week, causing Dean to smile and shake his head. "I'd say from the way your eyes nervously shift about that you are worried about something and the stubble on your chin says you either were in quite a hurry this morning or didn't spend the night at home. Probably the latter because you skipped school and likely spent the morning with your girlfriend who you stayed with last night. Your mum saw you sneaking out, so you're avoiding your family and school because you know your parents can find you there, but it's a stupid move because knowing your dad, he probably thinks you've got yourself shot in some back alley and has a team searching for you right now." Ceridwen commented after looking at Neil carefully for a long moment, speaking very rapidly. She couldn't help it. It just spilled out of her mouth on impulse. "So the question remains, what are you doing here, Neil?" Neil let out a heavy sigh and gave the girl an annoyed glare.

"I heard about your little incidents with Annie, so I came by to check on you." he explained, knowing better than to comment on Ceridwen's deduction.

"Well, I can handle myself fine, thank you very much." the girl replied indignantly, smoothing her dark curls. Both boys rolled their eyes and laughed.

"No you can't, CJ. Annie might be shorter than you, but you are much thinner and don't know how to fight. Just because you gave her a little bruise yesterday doesn't mean you are suddenly a kung fu master." Dean jibed with a smirk. Because of that, she refused to talk to him when they began to walk home. Usually, Dean would walk with her to Baker Street and then go the rest of his way home alone, but he followed her to her door and she looked back him, confused. "Dad texted me and said to meet him here." he explained. She nodded curtly and continued on her way inside. When she entered the flat, her jaw dropped. Everyone was there waiting for her, smiling when they saw her come in. Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson, John, Mary, and Greg; they were all there.

"Wh-what's going on?" she managed to say.

"Honestly, CJ, you didn't think we'd forget your birthday, did you?" Dean said, giving his friend a nudge. Trying to take this in, she came further into the room and John took her bag and her coat. Sherlock put his hands on her shoulders and guided her to her favorite spot on the sofa.

"I've been informed that ten is a special mark, so we set up a little celebration for you." he told her, taking a seat next to her. The girl gave a nervous, yet warm grin in response. She didn't really know how to react to all this. Then Mrs. Hudson reappeared from the kitchen, holding a cake with ten candles, ready to be lit on it. She set it on Sherlock's desk and gave Ceridwen a cheery smile, calming the girl's nerves a little.

"I've made that spiral cake you like so much, deary." she announced. Ceridwen was overwhelmed the moment she saw everyone pulling out gifts and placing them on the coffee table before her. This was very different from her previous birthdays. Usually, they were spent quietly playing chess with her dad. Elated, she took up the small blue box labelled from Sherlock first. Inside was a collapsable magnifying glass just like his. She beamed at him and leaned on his shoulder affectionately.

"In case we had any doubt she's your child." Lestrade laughed, thinking only Sherlock's kid could be so excited to get a pocket magnifying glass for her birthday. Suddenly, the girl let out a gasp at seeing that the gift that had been under her father's was from Mycroft.

"Your uncle sent that over this morning after you left for school. Apparently he was too busy being the government to come, but took the time to send you something." Sherlock explained. He knew his brother had a soft spot for Ceridwen, despite outwardly claiming to find her just as much of a hassle as his little brother. The girl opened the present and was in awe at the little pirate figurine inside. It was a woman pirate with long, curly black hair. She wore a dark blue tailcoat and a black hat with an enormous blue feather in it. She stood on her base with her hands on her hips, looking up with an air of pride and authority. Carved into the base was 'Captain Ceridwen'. Sherlock smirked upon seeing it. Ceridwen wrote about pirates in many of her stories and it reminded Sherlock of himself when he was her age. It was understandable that Mycroft would latch onto that fact when trying to think of a gift for his niece. There was a card too. It read: _My apologies_ _for not delivering this in person, but things are a bit busy at the office. I pulled a few strings and had this made for you. I do hope it is to your liking. -Uncle Mycroft_, which was surprisingly kind of him, but Sherlock could read all the motives easily. Mycroft liked to take every opportunity he could to do right with Ceridwen where he had done wrong with Sherlock, especially if it in anyway might dissuade her from considering a career as a detective. Here, he was clearly steering her toward her interest in writing. Still, as much as she liked his gift, it could never be as useful as the other gifts she would receive and thus she would not value it as much. The thought made Sherlock grin.

Next, Ceridwen grabbed the silver wrapped box from Greg. She had no clue what to expect. She recalled Neil once joking about getting her a taser, but she knew Greg would have a heart attack if he saw her with a taser. However, she was pleasantly surprised to see a book when she opened the present. It was an encyclopedia of folklore from all over the world, which was new and interesting.

"Thank you very much." Ceridwen said, earning her an appreciative grin from Lestrade. He had struggled to find something she wouldn't find dull and it was a relief that he'd hit the mark.

She moved on to the package from the Watsons and raised her eyebrows upon seeing it was a very soft, dark purple jumper. Obviously Mary had chosen it given John's poor taste in jumpers. Ceridwen actually liked it and she felt lucky to have friends who knew her so well as to give her such great gifts. They sang Happy Birthday to her and ate cake and talked all evening (all of which Sherlock did his best to go along with), keeping her from the thoughts that usually plagued her on her birthday, but when they had all gone and it was just her and Sherlock left in the flat, she retreated to her room with her gifts, looking sullen. Sherlock, of course, did not fail to notice this and grew concerned, but waited a while before going in her room, figuring it was best to give her some time to think. When he finally went in, he found her there, laying on her bed, silently crying with her silver locket clenched in her hand. The man stiffened, never having been one to know how to deal with tears. He'd learnt from Molly that it was best that he not say anything, so he just came to stand next to his daughter's bed. She looked up at him with puffy eyes and spoke in a soft, shaky voice.

"No matter how hard I try, I can't shut away these feelings. I feel like something is wrong with me. Like I'm sick. It hurts every time I think of mum a lot. How can emotions make my body hurt?" Still shaking, the girl tried frustratedly to wipe away the tears from her eyes, but they just kept coming.

"Ceridwen, tears are pointless. Nothing will bring her back. You must accept that." Sherlock replied sternly, though he felt his own emotions slipping at seeing her like this. Ceridwen looked back at him angrily now.

"You think I don't know that!? I've told you! I can't stop it!" she snapped, taking Sherlock by surprise. How was he supposed to deal with this? Usually when Ceridwen had episodes of sadness or anger, he sent in Mrs. Hudson to deal with it. However, a part of him told him that he had to do this himself for once. She would never learn if Mrs. Hudson was always there to be her crutch.

"What do you want me to do? I can't bring your mother back from the dead!" He found himself getting angry now as well. Ceridwen sat up, wiping her eyes again before yelling back.

"I need you to tell me how to make it stop! I need you to help! And you're never there when I need your help for _anything_! I only get to see you a few times a week! You always leave me with Mrs. Hudson! Don't you care!?" This too was surprising for Sherlock and he was too shocked to respond right away, so for a moment, he just glared at her, but then he found his words again.

"What could you possibly need help with that Mrs. Hudson can't provide?" he demanded, utterly bewildered. The old woman cooked and cleaned, did the shopping, and provided Ceridwen with company when he was away in the evenings. How was that not enough?

"She never seems to understand. She never has answers. She just makes me tea and gives me hugs. And if you don't care, then I don't understand how mum ever wanted to marry you."

"Ceridwen Jacklyn Holmes!" Sherlock bellowed, now at the end of his patience. "Why do you insist upon being an ignorant, sniveling child!?" At this, Ceridwen looked deeply hurt. She prided herself in being more mature than others her age and to say she was just as bratty as the rest of them was a low blow. The only response she gave her father was to lay back and put her pillow over her head, clearly meaning that she wanted him to leave. "I'm not your mother. I can't be like her. So have yourself a good cry. It won't change that." With this, Sherlock left the room, slamming the door behind himself.

* * *

Late at night, when Ceridwen was sure her father was asleep in his own room, she grabbed some clothes, books, toiletries, and food, put them in her bag, and dawned her coat before climbing out her window onto a canopy below. Sliding down and landing firmly in the alley, Ceridwen set off into the night. Fresh snow crunched under her feet and she tried to ignore the strange looks she was getting from people she passed. For a long time, she just wandered about London, thinking of where to go. The Watsons were right out. They would call her father the moment they saw her. Same deal with the Lestrades. Her best bet was with her uncle, Mycroft. He was family and he would be willing to help her. Mind made up, Ceridwen stepped over into an alley that would take her in the direction of Mycroft's home. She was cold and it would take her all night, but she hadn't taken any money with her, so she couldn't get a cab. Everything was quiet in the alley but for the sound of traffic in the distance and the crunch of the snow with each of her steps. She could feel herself finally calming down in the tranquility of it all. Then a figure came out of the dark, wrapping his arm around her waist from behind and covering her mouth. She kicked and tried to scream, but to no avail and she was dragged into a nearby building where she felt a painful pricking sensation in her arm in the dark. Her eyelids grew heavy and in seconds, she was out.

**A/N: ...and there you go. I have no idea how I did. I tried my best not get OOC. I speak and write a strange combination of British and American English, so please forgive me for any inconsistencies or confusion. As a note about Dean calling Ceridwen "CJ", they've known each other for as long as they can remember. When Dean started to be able to talk, he had trouble saying her name (I dare you to say "Cewidwen" five times fast.) and as such just started calling her CJ and never stopped. Also, I chose her middle name carefully. Jacklyn is a feminine form of both John and James (and Scottish for James is Hamish). In any case, please review. I value each one that I get like Eddie van Coon valued things with big price tags.**


	2. Nameless Fear

**A/N: I am honored to have received such a positive reaction to the first chapter. Thank you so much for the reviews, favs, and follows. In answer to some of your questions: Sad to say, but Molly really is gone. You will get backstory on what happened through both mention by the characters and flashbacks. I'm sorry that this story is horribly dark (I seem to have a habit of starting things out light and abruptly turning them dark in all my stories. What is wrong with me?), but I do make an effort to put in a little humor or fluff now and again, so don't despair. Also, unlike my last family-related story, this one will not be an outright tragedy and will have happy endings. Oh, look at me. I'm rambling again. Well, please enjoy this next chapter.**

**WARNING: This chapter contains kidnapping and insanity.**

Chapter 2: Nameless Fear

It took Sherlock a few moments to remember the argument he'd had with his daughter the night before when he woke up. He grimaced at the thought and made a note to make it up to Ceridwen somehow. She was just a child and he was willing to admit that he might be expecting too much of her. She probably was going to refuse to leave her room for a while. Perhaps he could coax her out by persuading Mrs. Hudson to help him make Ceridwen pancakes. The girl loved those and she would be drawn by just the smell to the kitchen before she even realized what she was doing. It would improve her mood dramatically, Sherlock was sure, and it's what Molly would have done. The ten year old would still be in bed for a few more hours, so he had time to surprise her.

Flopping out of bed and putting on his dressing gown, Sherlock went into the sitting room and looked out the window at the snowy street before going to the kitchen and looking in the cupboard for pancake mix. That was when he noticed that Ceridwen's box of granola was missing. It couldn't be that they had run out. Mrs. Hudson had done the shopping only two days ago. Sighing, he hoped he wasn't about to find that Ceridwen had decided to binge on granola last night to make herself feel better. Going up the stairs to Ceridwen's room, he expected to see wrappers everywhere and the ten year old curled up in the sheets on the bed when he opened the door, but he found neither. The moment he saw the empty bed, Sherlock was gripped with panic. Where was she? Then he noticed the neatly folded piece of paper on the pillow and he quickly opened it. It read in her neat, cursive writing:

_Dear Dad,_

_ Don't panic. I've just gone away for a little while. I need some time away from home. I'll come back when I'm ready._

_ Love,_

_ Ceridwen_

The man cursed under his breath. There was no point in texting her, she would ignore him, but he had to get her back before her foolishness got her in serious trouble. Pulling out his phone, he texted Lestrade to tell him that if any of his agents saw Ceridwen, they should take her home immediately. The response he got was 'Don't tell me you've lost her. -GL', which conveyed that the man didn't appreciate being texted so early in the morning. To this, Sherlock rolled his eyes and answered that she'd run off and was probably wandering the streets of London. She should not be all that hard to spot.

Turning his attention back to the room, Sherlock began to look for any clues regarding where Ceridwen was planning to go and for how long. Three books were missing from her shelf and only a few items of clothing from her dresser, which meant she only expected to be gone for a few days at most, which was a relief. Using the temperature of the pillow, he guessed the girl had left a couple of hours ago. He knew she wouldn't go to John because he'd bring her home straight away and Lestrade obviously didn't know anything, so that left Mycroft. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Feeling confident and reassured again, he got dressed and went out to get John to help him look for Ceridwen. She couldn't have taken a taxi as she had not taken any money. This meant that she wouldn't arrive at Mycroft's for another hour, give or take, depending on when she had left and whether or not she'd gotten lost, because she was on foot and had been walking all night, causing her pace to slowed due to fatigue, plus, it was cold and snowy outside.

* * *

"Hello, Mary. Is John up?" Sherlock said upon being greeted by Mary at the door of the Watsons' flat.

"Ehm, no, he worked a shift last night. If you're going to wake him up, do it quietly, please. Dean is still sleeping." the woman replied drowsily. She knew Sherlock Holmes was the only person who would be able to wake her deeply asleep husband, so she stepped aside to let him in. Without another word to her, he came in and went straight to John and Mary's room. He roughly pulled his friend onto his feet and shook him into consciousness.

"What the hell, Sherlock!" John hissed as soon as he realized what was happening. Sherlock grinned at him.

"Shh, you wouldn't want to wake Dean, would you?" At this, John rolled his eyes and wandered over to his dresser.

"So what's the big deal? Is some poor sod lying dead with a body part missing or something?"

"Ceridwen's run away." Now Sherlock was very serious, but John gave him a look of exasperated disbelief.

"You've lost her? What did you do?" the blond asked, sounding like he wasn't at all surprised. The dark haired man quickly grew annoyed.

"I didn't lose her." he snapped. "She left and is planning to stay away from home for a few days. I seem to have said something upsetting enough to make her want to leave." At this, John raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, you two had a row, did you? I'm really not shocked. As hard as you might wish it, she isn't as oblivious as you. She is, after all, also partly Molly with feelings and everything, not to mention _a child._" The look this earned him made the blond decide it was best if he didn't agitate his friend. It was a look that reminded him that Sherlock _did_ have feelings, he just kept them under strict control. "Alright, where do you think she is?" he asked after a moment.

"She'll be on her way to Mycroft's place."

"Why not just let her have her little holiday? She'll be safe with Mycroft anyway." This question caused Sherlock to stop and stare at John as if to say 'Do you really have to ask that?' and within ten minutes, the two were out in the streets of London, asking people if they'd seen a young girl with very light blue eyes and curly raven hair wearing a heavy dark blue coat. Some people guessed from the description that they were looking for Sherlock's daughter and offered their condolences at not having seen her. Finally, when two hours had passed, Sherlock texted Mycroft, saying that if Ceridwen was there, he _must_ let him know. Then the dark haired man flagged down a cab and directed the cabbie to his brother's address. John remained silent, knowing better than to talk when his friend was like this. They arrived at Mycroft's flat shortly thereafter, expecting to find the girl there, but as they stood in the elder Holmes' study, they were assured that Ceridwen had not been seen or heard from. Sherlock must have believed him, because the look on his face became very grim.

"Even if she had gotten lost, she would have made it here by now." Sherlock said, putting together his hands and gazing intently out the window. "Something has happened." It was clear from his expression, even with all the control he was placing on himself, that he blamed himself for this. Mycroft grimaced, visually displeased at the notion that his niece was in danger. Before anything else could be said, Sherlock's phone rang and all attention was directed to said phone. The other two men instantly knew who it was when Sherlock's expression became grave. He answered quickly and waited for a response after saying a tentative "Hello?"

"D-Dad?"

"Ceridwen? Where are you? Why do you sound scared?"

"I-I'm so sorry. I was stupid. Please don't be mad at me." she replied, which made it clear that she could not answer his questions.

"What's going on? Are you alright?" Sherlock demanded, his eyebrows furrowing in a look of deep concern. John and Mycroft stepped closer, observing Sherlock's reactions intently.

"Daddy's going to be very sad if he doesn't listen very carefully." Now it was obvious that Ceridwen was a hostage reading out the kidnapper's message and Sherlock stiffened. His composure did not waver as he forced himself to keep his emotions locked up. They wouldn't do him any good here.

"I'm listening." He'd been in situations like this before, but this time it was very very personal. Whoever this was had his daughter.

"You will be provided with a list of demands at the following address: 338 Winchester, the basement flat. You have one hour to retrieve the list. If you don't get it in that time..." There was a pause in which Sherlock could hear Ceridwen let out a small gasp that told him what she was about to say. "...the little girl will die." Now he could hear her breathing heavily and rapidly. Someone was probably holding a gun to her head.

"Ceridwen, stay calm. I promise we'll have the list in an hour." Sherlock replied. There came a whimper from the other end of the phone and then the girl hung up. The man looked over at his friend, who appeared quite shocked, and spoke again. "John, call Lestrade and explain to him the situation." The doctor didn't waste a second in pulling out his mobile. Then the detective turned to his brother, but before he could say anything, Mycroft stopped him.

"You don't even have to ask, brother. I will put my people on it immediately." This earned the elder Holmes a smirk that looked suspiciously like it held gratitude and he gave his own, semi-genuine smile in return.

* * *

_Earlier_

"The Holmes brat is finally awake." Ceridwen heard a gruff voice say as her silver-blue eyes slowly opened. She could see three figures sitting nearby in the dim light. They all seemed to be looking at her.

"Are you really sure that's the right girl?"

"Of course! Just look at her. Same dark curls, same unnatural blue eyes. I looked in her phone and she's got the same condescending attitude. Either it's her or someone posing as her very convincingly."

"I've been watching her for a month. That is definitely Ceridwen Holmes, you idiots." This voice was a woman's, very young, no older than twenty-five. Ceridwen still could not make out any defined features. Everything was blurry and she felt sluggish and numb. She tried to move but her limbs seemed to be made of lead. A steady, stabbing pain was coming from her right palm and when she looked, she could make out that a piece of cloth was tied there with a large red blotch bleeding through.

"Hahaha! Look at her, flopping around like a fish out of water. How pathetic. Say, just how much of that sedative did you give her?"

"Enough to make her like this for a bit longer." the other man replied, his tone full of amusement. Ceridwen groaned and tried desperately to focus her vision. It took her several minutes, but eventually she was able to see the three adults. They looked perfectly ordinary at first glance, but for the cruel expressions on their faces. Looking around, the girl could see she was in an abandon flat. The floor was cold and hard and the walls were bare but for the chips and cracks in the plaster. Her bag was nowhere to be seen, which probably meant that her kidnappers had disposed of it once they had determined that there was nothing of importance inside it. Nothing but her phone seemed to be absent from her coat pockets, which was both comforting and worrying. What exactly would they want her phone for still? They had already used it to verify her identity. Perhaps they had gotten rid of it to prevent her from calling for help. Ah, but maybe they were keeping it to contact her father. There were a number of reasons she could think of as to why they would want to hold her captive. Ceridwen knew her father had enemies. How could he not? He was a detective.

The dark haired girl kept herself calm for a long while by thinking objectively about her situation. There was no doubt in her mind that her father would deal with her kidnapping swiftly the moment he discovered that she was not with her uncle. However, things changed when she suddenly found herself sitting upright with a gun to her head. Her phone was held up to her face and a card with words on it was placed in front of her.

"Read what I write to your daddy and don't get too off topic or there is going to be lots of you all over the floor." At this Ceridwen was struck with a fear she had never felt before. She let out a whimper involuntarily and nodded. The man holding the phone pressed the call button and she wanted to break into tears the moment she heard Sherlock's voice. She found herself immediately apologizing for her stupidity, but he was not at all focused on her faults. He wanted to know where she was and if she was alright, but she couldn't tell him anything that wasn't on the card. The girl read card after card, feeling more terrified than she ever had in her entire life and when she was done, panic seemed to grip her. Sherlock told her to keep calm and that was enough to help her breath more slowly. She heard his promise just before her captor hung up the phone. It was very reassuring to know that he had promised her, because he always kept his promises.

"Come one, place that thing and let's go." the woman snapped as Ceridwen took the opportunity to leave something for her father. The girl made three scuff marks on the floor with the heels of her boots, one in the shape of an X and two in the shape of a Y. To anyone but Sherlock Holmes, they would be random marks on the floor.

Very soon, Ceridwen was being pulled along to a van at the back of the building. The men shoved her in the back and the woman joined her. Moments later, the engine thrummed to life and Ceridwen could feel that they were in motion.

* * *

It did not take long for Sherlock and John's cab to arrive at the address they had been given. It was a run down looking building. The door was unlocked and they quickly made their way downstairs. A moment later, they heard sirens and Lestrade joined them, an expression of complete seriousness on his face. The basement flat was quite empty but for the envelope on the mantle of the fireplace. Sherlock grabbed it and ripped it open before anyone could tell him to be careful.

"I've got my people working on connecting to Ceridwen's mobile's tracker device. We should know where she is soon." Lestrade told them as he looked around the room.

"Sherlock? What does it say?" John spoke, seeing the sickened look on his friend's face. The tall man handed him the note and began scanning the room for further information. John looked at the note and gulped. It read in big, bloody letters 'A NEW GAME'. He swore under his breath and ran a hand through his hair.

"Damn. They can't find her. Looks like the device has been removed." Lestrade spoke up just as he looked away from his phone. That was when he saw the note. "Oh God." he gasped. "Is that blood?"

"She was here." Sherlock suddenly said, standing up from his crouched position. "With a woman and two men. They cut her to use her blood for that note." Upon seeing the flummoxed expressions on the other two men's faces, he elaborated. "The scuff marks on the floor. Small and black. Obviously made by a child wearing black-soled shoes. Why would there be scuff marks on the floor unless she was dragged? But that's not what scuff marks look like when a person is dragged, so they were delibrate. Ceridwen is clever. She is trying to tell us something. If you look closely, you'll see they form an X and two Y's. What can be described in X's and Y's? Chromosomes, X referring to female, Y reffering to male. Therefore, she must be saying that she's being held by a woman and two men. Now, the small smears of blood nearby. Judging by the pattern, it was coming through a piece of cloth. They must have wrapped her gash to prevent it from getting her blood everywhere and allowing us to track them that way. Lestrade, you say your people can't find her phone. That means at least one of these people is very intelligent and tech savvy, probably the brains of the operation. Ceridwen listed the woman first, which implies leadership, so we're looking for a woman, probably relatively young, who knows technology well. Where would they take Ceridwen next? They know who I am. They are going to try to be clever and pick a place they think I'll never look." Sherlock deduced, not stopping once to breath. The other two were amazed that he didn't look at all winded.

"Didn't she leave any clues about where they were taking her?" Lestrade asked, still looking horrifed.

"She wouldn't have known." They could tell that Sherlock was frustrated. Then a look of sudden realization dawned on the dark haired man's face. "Oh." he gasped. Before the others could ask him about it, he was off, rushing out the door and hailing a cab.

"Sherlock! Mind telling me what's going on?!" John called to his best friend as he chased after him, leaving Lestrade behind to sort things out with Scotland Yard. Sherlock did not respond and soon he didn't have to because they were now bursting through the door of 221C and running down the stairs. The flat was empty, as ever, except for a bag sitting in the middle of the floor. It was Ceridwen's school bag. Slowly, Sherlock knelt down and opened it. Set neatly on top of some clothes was an envelope. The consulting detective knew what it was the very second he set eyes on it. He took out the note inside it and read it before swallowing hard. There was a weakness in the man's eyes that John had not seen in a very long time. "Sherlock, what does it say?" Wordlessly, the detective shoved the letter into his friend's hand and went back to searching his daughter's bag. The note read in the same bloody letters as before 'TIME TO PLAY'. John suddenly felt sick, but kept his calm and texted Lestrade a picture of the note.

"She wasn't here. One of her kidnappers planted this here for me to find." the detective finally spoke as he drew a pair of small, black boots from the bag. "It's a signature." John just stared as everything clicked into place in his mind. The phonecall. This place. The shoes. Moriarty. But how could that be? Sherlock had seen the consulting criminal shoot himself all those years ago. "We should be expecting another call very soon." With that, Sherlock took Ceridwen's bag and went upstairs to 221B. The doctor followed him without a word, determined to help in whatever way he could.

**A/N: Dramatic chapter is dramatic. Kudos to anyone who guesses who exactly the villain is. It shall be revealed very soon. Flashbacks will start appearing in the next chapter, which will (if all goes according to plan) be up soon. I'm constantly scared that I'm not portraying Sherlock very well. I hope I'm not butchering him. Thank you for reading. Please review. Reviews keep me motivated.**


	3. It's Personal

**A/N: Yay for quick updates! Unfortunately, this is the last of my quick updates as all I was doing before was typing up what was already in my notebook, so now it'll take me a lot longer because I don't have anything more pre-written. On top of that, I won't be able to put up another chapter until next week because my orchestra group is going on a trip. I am really sorry. Anyway, please enjoy this chapter.**

**WARNING: This chapter contains insanity and implied (non-sexual) child abuse.**

Chapter 3: It's Personal

Ceridwen Holmes did not by any means consider herself a particularly emotional person. That being said, she had not yet learned the art of staying calm in high stress situations. As she sat on the hard floor of a rundown factory, her body shook with fear. Two of her three captors were watching her closely as the third, the woman, was writing on index cards. They had taken away her boots and her feet and legs were numb with cold. She would not be able to escape. No matter how hard Ceridwen tried, she could not make herself calm down. Everytime she took a deep breath, it was greeted with a wave of terror that started at the base of her spine, crept up to her brain, induced panic and came out as a soft whimper.

"I expected more from someone who has the blood of Sherlock Holmes in her veins. I expected confidence and biting wit. I guess you're weak and ordinary like your mother. A shame, but then again, having a clever hostage is more work." the woman said, looking up from her writing when she grew tired of listening to Ceridwen whimper. At the crack about her mother, the girl felt like she had been punched in the gut and angry tears threatened at the corners of her eyes. The woman laughed. "Look at you. It must be so confusing for you, all these emotions you can't shut out. You're just a sniveling child. Disappointing." Overwhelmed and wanting nothing more than to escape this nightmare, Ceridwen shut her eyes and filtered out the physical world. She refused to cry. It would be weak. It would do nothing to help her and she would not give her captors the satisfaction. As she slipped into a meditative state, calm came over the girl and shut out her anger and fear and pain.

Ceridwen went to the quiet place in her mind. It was a place that her father had taught her to use and she went there whenever she truly wished to be alone. Suddenly, she was in a cozy room in a cottage. It was warm and she sat down on the soft, dark green carpet. She was relaxing slowly. Her eyes wandered over the bookshelves that lined the walls and the sound of a beautiful violin solo reached her ears. It was a tune Sherlock had composed for her as a Christmas present a year previous.

"Interesting. She's willed herself into unconsciousness." the woman's voice suddenly cut through the air and the violin stopped. Ceridwen looked around frantically. What was going on? How was the woman here? Then she felt a burst of white hot pain and her eyes snapped open. The girl quickly realized that the woman was standing over her and had slapped her. Reaching up to her cheek, her hand came away with blood. "Sit up, little girl. I have a message for your daddy." One of the men roughly pulled her upright and the other put her phone to her face while the woman held up the cards for her to read. The ten year old complied as calmly as she could, for her fear was creeping up on her again.

* * *

Sherlock and John sat in silence at 221B. They had received a message from Lestrade, telling them that the blood on the floor and the note matched as Ceridwen's. The consulting detective's face seemed perminently frozen in an expression of deep seated frustration. He couldn't think of anything that might tell him where his daughter was. All he knew was that someone was playing him like Moriarty and was doing so intentionally. John seemed to think that it was Moriarty himself, but Sherlock knew that was rediculous. No, this was different. Whoever this was wanted something much more primal than distraction. Revenge perhaps?

Suddenly, the detective's phone rang and he answered it with haste.

"Hello?" he said. The sound of Ceridwen's uneven breathing could be heard from the other end.

"Do you like chess, Mr. Holmes? I do. It's a wonderful game, isn't it? A battle entirely without emotion or justification with no other purpose than to defeat one's opponent. Whittling the enemy down until there is nothing left but the weakest piece. That's my favorite strategy. Will you play a game of chess with me, Mr. Holmes?"

"Who are you? Speak to me in your own voice." Sherlock replied coolly. He did not want to play this person's game, especially when his daughter was one of the pieces.

"Telling you would spoil the game." Now this was getting more Moriarty-esque and a feeling of illness was manifesting in his stomach.

"What if I don't want to play chess with you?"

"Oh, I wouldn't do that...that would...that would..." There was a pause and a whimper from Ceridwen that pulled hard on Sherlock's normally tightly wound heartstrings. "...that would knock over your king and you'd never see it again." At this, Sherlock closed his eyes and John looked confused for a moment, trying to figure out what was meant by 'king'. It only took a few seconds for it to hit him.

"Oh God." the blond breathed.

"And if I want my king back, I must play for it."

"Precisely."

"Whose turn is it now?" The dark haired man was outwardly calm, but on the inside, he was burning with anger and worry, like the time Mrs. Hudson was attacked by Americans.

"After this call, it will be yours, Mr. Holmes." Ceridwen's voice answered. It was clear that she was trying her best to keep her head. A part of Sherlock was feeling pride in that and brought him a small amount of assurance. "Just remember that ponds freeze over in the winter." With that, Ceridwen hung up and the detective's mind began to race. Everything that had been said was of importance. It would give him everthing he needed to make his next move.

"This Moriarty reenactor means to do what Moriarty failed to do." he said grimly, silently cursing himself for believing he could have a family and keep the child safe because he had destroyed Moriaty's network. That had been wishful thinking. Clearly he had missed someone crucial in the network. He had grown too comfortable and confident.

"What do you mean?" John asked, hoping his friend wasn't referring to what he thought he was referring to.

"Moriarty tried to destroy me completely, but he failed because I turned my weakness into a strength. This time my enemy has made sure it is nothing but a weakness. This time, my enemy wants not a distraction, but blood." Sherlock replied, his words full of the weight of solemnity. His friend looked back at him with an expression of anxiety. He still didn't quite understand what Sherlock meant, but whatever had occurred to the detective, it was clearly more serious than anything they'd dealt with since the detective's fall all those years ago. "I need to think." Sherlock said abruptly before reaching over to the draw in his desk containing his box of nicotine patches.

"No, Sherlock. You can do this without those." John scolded. "I know you can."

"What does it matter to you? I need to think. This is a five patch problem." the dark haired man retorted, moving to open the drawer. The doctor quickly got up and snapped the drawer shut. "John! My daughter's been taken from me and her very life is in danger! I need something to help me focus so I can figure out how to save her as quickly as possible!" Sherlock yelled this time, baring his teeth slightly.

"Right, and that means we can't afford to have you OD on nicotine! She needs you, Sherlock!" John bellowed back. The consulting detective's eyes widened at this, his friend's point sinking in.

"Fine." he replied simply, steepling his hands again. How was he going to do this? Suddenly, he got up and fetched his violin. He quickly tuned it and a moment later, a soft, sweet, sorrowful melody filled the room. John immediately recognized it as Molly's Requiem. _It's like he's asking her for help._the blond thought, a sad smile coming across his face. He wondered how different things would be if the pathologist was still with them. Everyone would be so much happier and Sherlock and Ceridwen wouldn't have many of the problems that they did. John tried to remember how Ceridwen was before her mother died. Memories of a lively, laughing little kid appeared in his mind...

_It had been a long day, finishing up that serial killer case, but never the less, John decided to go with his best friend back to 221B, if only to see his favorite child in the world (second only to his own little one, Dean) and her mother._

_ "Hello, Molly!" the doctor greeted cheerfully, though he was very tired, as he came in. The woman smiled brightly at him and gave him a hug before gesturing for him to take a seat if he wanted to. Immediately, he collapsed into what had once been his armchair. Looking around, he marvelled at how different the place was from when he had lived there. Everything was neat and tidy. Not something you'd expect from a place where a child lived, or Sherlock Holmes for that matter. It was a mark of Molly's presence. From the corner of his eye, the blond could see Sherlock and Molly exchanging a particularly affectionate greeting (something that had taken him a long time to get use to seeing) and talking about the case the two men had just completed as they went into the kitchen. Then John spotted a dark haired little girl in her pajamas and dressing gown, peeking out at him shyly from the doorway, her bright silver-blue eyes looking back at him sleepily._

_ "Hi, Ceridwen. I'm sorry if we woke you." he said, smiling at her._

_ "It's okay." she replied in her soft little voice. As she started to really wake up, it registered in her mind that she was talking to John and she beamed, coming out into the sitting room so that she could talk to him properly. "Hi, John. Did you and dad catch the bad guy?" The doctor nodded and Ceridwen bounced up and down excitedly, obviously keen on being told the story. That was when her parents came back to the sitting room. Upon seeing his daughter, Sherlock grinned and lifted her up in his arms. She giggled joyfully._

_ "Ceridwen! Would you like me to tell you about the exciting case John and I completed today?" he greeted her energetically, though how he managed to be so lively after not having slept for three days, John had no idea._

_ "Yes, please!" the four year old exclaimed. She looked very fragile in her father's arms, despite her excitement. She was quite noticeably thin and pale and everything she wore looked big and baggy on her. However, she never seemed bothered by her own frailness. Perhaps because she had yet to encounter children other than John or Greg's, who never made fun of her for it._

_ "I think that story can wait until tomorrow. You need to be in bed, Ceridwen." Molly spoke up and the little girl made a pout face. Sherlock laughed._

_ "Your mum is right, but I promise I'll tell you everything as soon as you get up in the morning." he told Ceridwen, kissing her on the forehead before handing her off to Molly._

_ "Okay. Goodnight, Dad. Goodnight, John." the girl said as her mother turned to carry her upstairs to bed._

_ "Goodnight, Ceridwen." John called, waving. When Molly and Ceridwen disappeared, the blond turned to look at his best friend, still smiling. "She is such a great kid." He knew that if he had told Dean to wait until tomorrow to hear about his dad's adventure, he would have refused to go to sleep until he was given the story. It was remarkable that Sherlock's little girl didn't fuss at all. In fact, John couldn't recall ever having seen Ceridwen have a fit. If she was displeased, she moped for a little while in her room and then came back out cheerful again. Molly said she had been like that when she was small. Sherlock rarely talked about his childhood, so John had no clue what temperaments Ceridwen had inherited from her father._

_ "Indeed." Sherlock replied simply. He seemed lost in thought, but he still wore a grin. It was one of those wonderful moments in which John got to see him be blatantly happy about something other than work..._

Ceridwen was like a different person now, full of cynicism and cold logic unsuitable of a ten year old. She was becoming Sherlock. Suddenly, a thought occurred to John. What if Sherlock was Sherlock because of a death? What if Sherlock had been bullied as a kid? That would explain so much about him. The doctor watched his best friend with a look of deep sympathy, a little humbled at the thought of Sherlock as a sensative child.

* * *

"Who are you?" Ceridwen asked the moment the phone was hung up. The woman laughed as she stuffed her index cards in her coat pocket.

"Did your daddy ever tell you about James Moriarty?"

"No. That name is very hush hush." the girl replied, her confidence gaining a little strength. The woman looked disappointed at this and frowned.

"A pity. And here I was hoping to enjoy the look of shock and horror on your face when I tell you my name is Cecilia Moriarty." Despite not really knowing about Moriarty, Ceridwen wasn't stupid. It had been obvious to her that the man was someone who had caused her father and his friends a great deal of pain. That was why her reaction to the woman's words was still full of surprise. "Oh, look, I still get satisfaction." Cecilia smirked, her dark amber gaze locking intensely with Ceridwen's gray orbs. "You and I are very much alike, Ceridwen." The ten year old grimaced at this and the woman laughed. "We are both enigmas, children born of men who are supposedly free of sentiment."

"I am nothing like you." Ceridwen hissed. "I'm not psychotic woman who finds pleasure in harming others." This earned her a slap across the face that continued to sting, which the girl concluded meant blood had been drawn again.

"You're right. I am a psychotic woman who takes pleasure in harming others." Cecilia responded, making it clear that the slap was to illustrate this and not an act of retaliation. "Where's the fun in being sane and kind?" The woman kept grinning at Ceridwen devilishly. "You and I are just afterthoughts. Somewhere along the line, my father decided he wanted an heir to his criminal empire, so he seduced my mother and she died having me in an orphanage long after he had forgotten about her. You are the product of Sherlock Holmes giving in to sentiment on a whim. He's not a proper father. To him, you're just a needy flatmate." At these words, Ceridwen glared at Cecilia, trying to hide the sudden rush of painful emotions that were threatening to take over her.

"You're wrong." she managed to say softly, causing Cecilia to laugh.

"Look at you, in denial. Why did it take so long for you to show me your defiance? Still, you are weak, even for a child. Convinced that your daddy is going to save you. You're almost not worth killing, but I need you so that I can enjoy the death of Sherlock Holmes. You see, you're the bait to my delicious trap. I'm going to enjoy watching you both die slowly." Ceridwen's eyes widened at this and she started to back away, but Cecilia grabbed her arm. "In the meantime, I'm going to have a little fun. Pain reveals the true nature of a person, so let's find out who you really are, Ceridwen."

* * *

It was many long hours before Sherlock Holmes moved again, but John stayed at 221B with him the whole time. The blond exchanged texts with his wife about what was going on. Apparently Dean had gotten upset when he had been told what had happened to Ceridwen and shut himself away in his room. John could just picture in his mind Mary putting a plate of jammy dodgers outside the boy's door to get him to come out.

Suddenly, the sound of the doorbell shook both men from their trains of thought and a moment later, Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs holding a cardboard box.

"This was at the door when I opened it." she explained and Sherlock rushed to take it from her. Something not all that heavy was packed inside. When he opened the box, a look of comprehension came across the detective's face and he took from the box Ceridwen's coat. As he began to look it over, a strong smell of chemicals reached his nose. "Has this got something to do with poor Ceridwen?" the old woman inquired.

"Why did they send you her coat?" Sherlock didn't seem to be listening to them. He was too busy rifling through all the pockets.

"John, we need to go to Bart's." the dark haired man said abruptly and for a moment, John was confused, but then he caught sight of the pieces of collapsable magnifying glass in Sherlock's hand, one of which had blood on the jagged edge of the glass. Mrs. Hudson put her hand to her mouth and looked like she might cry. Moments later, the two men were rushing out the door.

**A/N: Well, I certainly hope that was not disappointing. I'm going to let your imagination run wild for a bit about what the deal with the magnifying glass is. How was it broken? What was it doing in Ceridwen's coat pocket? Who's blood is that? All questions with multiple possible answers. Please let me know what you think. Cheers! ~T.Z.**


	4. Cold

**A/N: Hiya! Sorry for taking a while to update. Thank you so much for the lovely reviews! They really motivated me. I hope you find this chapter worth waiting for. Please R&R.**

**WARNING: Mild violence and more insanity.**

Chapter 4: Cold

In the lab at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, Sherlock Holmes was sitting and impatiently waiting to receive the results of the DNA test that would tell him who's blood coated the jagged glass on one half of his daughter's pocket magnifying glass. He paced back and forth with his hands behind his back while John Watson watched anxiously. Suddenly, the computer started beeping, having found a match. The detective practically jumped to look at the screen.

"Cecilia Richards. 21. Orphaned at birth. Graduated early from uni with a degree in electrical engineering. Look at her face, John. _Look at her face._" Sherlock said the last sentence in almost a growl. The doctor rushed over to look at the photo of the woman on the computer screen and gaped. Those big brown eyes and that amused smile were horrifyingly familiar.

"Oh my God. You don't think-"

"It is the only possible explanation." Sherlock said before John could finish. "Ceridwen must have used this to defend herself against Moriarty's daughter and slipped it into her pocket in the hopes that I would find it." The doctor could tell his friend was taking a moment to have pride in how clever Ceridwen had been.

"So now we know who to look out for?"

"Yes. Phone Lestrade and tell him our criminal is Cecilia Richards, illegitimate daughter of James Moriarty." Sherlock ordered, taking out his own phone to send a text to his brother. If they were lucky and this woman didn't know what Ceridwen had done, they'd find her in no time.

* * *

_Doctor Molly Holmes came upstairs to 221B Baker Street in time to see her four year old daughter run across the sitting room and into the kitchen, looking ecstatic and clutching Sherlock's little black notebook in her small, thin hands. The pathologist came in and set her bag down next to the coffee table before going into the kitchen to see what all the fuss was about. She was greeted with the smell of formaldehyde and the sight of her husband sitting at the kitchen table with Ceridwen, muttering instructions to her as she prodded the insides of a frog._

_ "What are you two up to?" Molly inquired._

_ "We're doing SCIENCE!" Ceridwen exclaimed jubilantly and Sherlock smirked with an air of deep satisfaction. The pathologist quirked an eyebrow at her husband in a gesture that meant she wanted an explanation._

_ "There were no cases today. I got bored and decided to teach Ceridwen about dissection." The man gave Ceridwen a quick pat on the head as he said this._

_ "Don't you think she's a bit young for that sort of thing?"_

_ "She doesn't seem to think so." Sherlock replied and as if on cue, the raven haired girl made an intrigued sound as she discovered kidneys. "Besides, how old were you when you started poking at dead bodies?" At this, Molly couldn't help but smile and roll her eyes, only adding to the detective's satisfied expression._

_ "Well, genius child or no, _science_ is going to have to get cleaned up soon because I've brought dinner." The woman held up a Thai take out bag and Ceridwen looked disappointed at having to stop working, but never the less, she obeyed and toddled off to wash up, leaving her father to clean up everything. "Ha, she has your brain _and _your attitude towards cleaning up her own messes." Molly laughed. As Sherlock cleared the dissection equipment from the table and washed his hands, he couldn't resist a grin. He had known from the start that any child he had with Molly was sure to be very clever, but he had had no way of predicting what personality traits of his would be given to his daughter. He hoped that she would have Molly's heart and his brain. As far as he could tell, that was the case, and every time he laid eyes on Ceridwen, he felt a swell of pride in what he and Molly had created and wondered how he ever could have thought getting married and having kids would be boring._

_ "Did you bring home any body parts?" Sherlock asked casually as he grabbed some forks._

_ "No, Sherlock, you are not allowed to have our daughter dissecting human body parts until she's older." Molly replied and Sherlock frowned at being figured out so quickly, though he took pleasure in being deduced by his wife._

_ "Who said anything about giving body parts to Ceridwen?"_

_ "You may not have said it, but I know you, Sherlock Holmes. You were going to give the arm I brought you to a four year old." At this, the detective grinned, even more pleased. Molly blushed at the way Sherlock was leering at her. He was strongly resisting the urge to lean in and drop his voice an octave in order to persuade her to let Ceridwen at least watch him experiment on the arm. He was prevented from giving in to temptation when their daughter returned to the kitchen and hopped up into her seat at the table. The small girl looked up at them innocently, quietly waiting for dinner to be served. Molly gave her a quick hug and kissed her forehead before opening the take out bag, thinking that she would not trade this life for anything in the world._

* * *

Consciousness slowly returned to Ceridwen Holmes, but her legs, arms, and face were numb and not just from the effects of the drug in her system. When she finally became aware of her surroundings, she realized she was in some sort of large, refrigerated room and her coat and blazer were gone. Judging by the traces of sawdust on the floor, it was an empty storage room in a meat packing plant. There was a camera looking down at her from the corner and it struck her that this was it. This was where she was supposed to die. This was where her father was supposed to die. Her whole body shook uncontrollably as she tried to pull herself into a sitting position, but she cried out in pain and slumped over before drawing her knees to her chest and glaring at the camera. Her wrist was broken. The bruises that covered her body ached and a wave of terror came over her when she remembered how she had gotten them. The crazed look in Cecilia's brown eyes was burned into Ceridwen's brain. She had screamed and fought back, but had only ended up getting more hurt. Her mind flooded with the memory of what it felt like to be suffocating and she wanted to cry, but she couldn't. She wouldn't. Not while she was being watched.

"You're going to lose." the raven haired girl tried to growl at the camera, but it only came out as a hoarse whisper that made her throat hurt. She reached up and pulled away her tie, never wanting to have one around her neck again. Carefully, she used it to wrap her wrist. If her wrist wasn't broken, she would have used it to keep a part of one of her legs a little warmer, as they were only covered by her black tights from the knees down with only the addition of the thin fabric of her skirt above that. She could barely move her toes.

Ceridwen's only hope was that Sherlock had found the blood sample she'd left him. It wouldn't be much longer before she would lose feeling completely in her limbs and within a day, she could be dead. Since there was nothing more she could do about it, the girl closed her eyes and let calm wash over her. Her cottage appeared and she wandered the halls, unsure of what memories she wanted to delve into. Then she came to a door that was strangely ajar and frowned. When she went inside, she found herself at home, at 221B, and a woman she recognized after a moment as her mother was sitting on the sofa. Her mother smiled when she saw her and said something, but Ceridwen knew not what. It was like she had forgotten what her voice sounded like. Looking over, Ceridwen now saw her father there as well, sitting at his desk. What were they doing here? There wasn't a room in her cottage like this before. She knew she should be overjoyed at seeing them, but something about all of this was giving her a strange feeling and so she forced herself to look away and leave, retreating to the door behind which resided her memories of Dean Watson. As she turned the knob, a sudden, sharp pain came from her back and her eyes snapped open. Looking down at her was Cecilia Moriarty, who had kicked her awake.

"No sleeping now, little girl. I want you to be awake when your daddy comes." the woman snapped and before Ceridwen could respond, was out of the room. The ten year old was struck with a sudden desire to die. It only lasted for a moment as the thought occurred to her that it was her fault for causing this mess because she had been stupid enough to run away in the middle of the night. If her father was killed, it would be all her fault. Then she remembered that it didn't matter because she just would have been kidnapped at a different time with the same results. There was no comfort in that, but it was the truth. If this was where it was all going to end, at least she would get to spend her last minutes with Sherlock.

Ceridwen wished she could just fall asleep, but if she did, Cecilia would return and possibly do more to her than kick her next time. The stabbing pain in her wrist was a vivid reminder of that. So, not knowing what else to do, the girl stared off into space, her mind floating on the edges of consciousness.

* * *

For a couple of long hours, Sherlock Holmes contemplated the meaning of Cecilia's words 'ponds freeze over in winter' and there was no word from either Scotland Yard or Mycroft as to the location of Cecilia Richards. When it hit him, he jumped up from his chair.

"What is it? What did you figure out?" John demanded upon seeing this. He had been waiting patiently for a long time for this.

"The boots, John. Carl Powers' shoes. Carl died in a pool. A natural pool is a pond. Ponds freeze in winter. Ceridwen is going to be trapped somewhere and freeze to death. They wouldn't put her outdoors because it would run too many risks. They've got her locked up somewhere inside cold enough to eventually kill her." the detective gushed, taking out his phone and searching something. John was barely following him, but still nodded for him to continue. "What kind of place is there like that? Any place that stores food that needs refrigerating. It would be abandon. A child would be hard to hide in an active environment. There are two such facilities in the area: a vegetable packaging plant and a meat packing plant. Ceridwen is in the meat packing plant."

"How do you know?" John asked, confused but still in awe at his friend's deduction skills.

"There were flakes of sawdust on Ceridwen's coat. Why would there be sawdust in a vegetable facility?" Sherlock explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Before he could say anything else, the detective's phone rang and upon seeing the caller ID, answered without even saying hello. "I know who you are. Speak to me in your own voice, Cecilia." he growled. There was a pause before a smooth female voice answered.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes. Are you enjoying the game?"

"No. I am not. And your father would be appalled at you for calling this a game. You lack his wit and elegance. This is not a game. There is no sport in this at all. This is you setting a mouse trap and waiting for the moment of sick pleasure when the mouse's neck is snapped." Sherlock snarled back and he was greeted with laughter from the other end of the line.

"My my, someone has a temper. It's marvelous to hear you so blatantly angry, Mr. Holmes. I wonder what physical pain looks like on you. I can't wait to find out." James Moriarty had been obviously unstable, but this woman was downright unhinged. Sherlock was suddenly reminded of the text he had gotten from Lestrade earlier telling him Cecilia had called a demolition company when she was a little girl and tried to have her school blown up. No one had taken her seriously.

"I will find you and I will make you give me my daughter back. By any means necessary." At this, John stared at his friend, never having heard Sherlock threaten someone like that before. The very tone in the consulting detective's voice sent a shiver down his spine. It was a stark reminder that Sherlock Holmes was a very very dangerous man to have as an enemy.

"You can't make me do anything. Oh, and when you get here, no bringing along any of your police or government friends. That would be very bad for little Ceridwen's health." With that, Cecilia hung up and Sherlock placed his phone back in his pocket before grabbing his coat and scarf.

"What's the plan?" the doctor asked. If there was anything he could do to help, he would do it. As Sherlock headed for the door, he turned and gave John a smile that did a poor job of hiding the underlying sadness.

* * *

"DOOFUSES!" Cecilia Moriarty shrieked at her two accomplices. "How could you not check the pockets before sending off that coat! Everything is jeopardized now!" There was a pause as she gingerly touched the long cut across her left cheek and winced. "You are very lucky I need you, otherwise I would kill you both." The two men just stared at her and she turned her attention back to the camera feeds on her computer screen. "Go to your posts and remember not to kill him."

"Yes, ma'am." they both said before hurrying away.

* * *

It was cold, dark, and quiet in the meat packing plant when Sherlock arrived. The only sound was his steady footsteps. He had a general idea of where he needed to go to find Ceridwen and he knew if he encountered guards, he was going in the right direction. In the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow move. Bracing himself, he blocked the attempted blow to his head. His attacker grabbed the collar of his coat and pulled him to the ground. Sherlock grabbed the man's shoulders and flipped him off him, but had one sleeve of his coat pulled off in the process. He didn't have time to pull it back on again when he got up before his opponent lunged at him once more. The detective ducked out of the way and grabbed him by the torso to throw him down. The coat was completely pulled off him this time and the man who had attacked him was off with it before he could stop him.

Sherlock understood what that was about and grimaced. They wanted him to freeze too. Pressing on, he came to a large, white, metal door. Carefully, he pulled it open, expecting to see Ceridwen inside, but it was empty. _Wrong one_ he thought frustratedly. He began checking every heavy white door in the corridor until finally, after his fifth try, he found a lit storage room with a small, battered looking, raven haired girl curled up and shivering violently in the middle of the floor, staring off into space. Sherlock rushed to her side and she fearfully cringed away from him.

"Ceridwen, it's me. Don't be afraid." he told her softly. After a long moment, a look of recognition dawned on the ten year old's face. She let out a whimper and he wrapped his arms around her to lift her up. What had they done to her? "Come on. I'm getting you out of here." He carried her to the door only to have it shut in his face from the outside. Immediately, panic set in and he slammed his shoulder against the door, but to no avail. "No!" he bellowed. Quickly, he realized he was trapped here with Ceridwen and fell to his knees in resignation. Setting the girl down, he took off his scarf and was about to wrap it around his daughter's neck when he noticed the purple strangle marks there, so instead, he wound it around one of her legs. Next, he took off his suit jacket and placed it about her shoulders, buttoning it up to make sure it stayed there.

"W-What are y-you doing? D-don't. You'll f-freeze." Ceridwen protested, her voice barely a whisper.

"It is my responsibility as your parent to put your life above my own. Stop complaining and come close so you can take advantage of my body heat." Sherlock told her before pulling her into a tight embrace. She rested her head against his chest and let out another whimper.

"I-I'm s-s-s-so sorry, dad. F-For everything."

"Don't be. I am far more at fault than you." the man responded calmly. He could easily feel his daughter trembling involuntarily in his arms. Ceridwen was suffering hypothermia. If she didn't get warmer soon, she didn't have long. "Hug your chest if you can. You'll be okay." Sherlock told her and she obeyed. He tightened his hold on her, though he could feel his own body start to shiver and the cold was biting into him like knives.

"Tell m-me about mum." the detective abruptly heard Ceridwen say. It was a strange request, especially given the situation.

"What do you want to know?"

"W-What was sh-she like? Why d-did you like her?" The questions were barely understandable because the girl was shaking so much, but Sherlock got it. He let out a sigh and decided to answer her.

"Your mother was an exceptional person, Ceridwen. She was clever and kind. She saved my life and helped me understand things that I had previously brushed aside as not worth my time. She believed in me even when she had every reason not to." As Sherlock spoke, memories of his late wife flooded into his mind. Memories of everything she had done for him. Memories of everything they had shared. He felt a painful pulling sensation in his chest that made him want to stop talking about Molly, but he ignored it. "She cared about me more than anyone I've ever known. She gave me you." _She showed me that caring can be a strength._ He added in his head. He didn't say it out loud because he could never bring himself to admit it to anyone. That pulling pain was nagging at him harder now and started rising up to the area behind his eyes.

"I'm c-cold." Ceridwen said softly and Sherlock's eyes widened. She was losing consciousness.

"Ceridwen. Stay with me. You have to stay with me." the consulting detective told her urgently, shaking her gently, though with some difficulty because his own body was growing very numb. "Stay with me..." he trailed off as she closed her eyes.

**A/N: So, how're they going to get out of this one, do you think? The next chapter will wrap up this story arc and start a new one, which will be less angst, more adventure with dashes of humor. I hope I portrayed Sherlock well here. I'm scared that I made him too emotional. Please let me know what you think! Thanks! ~T.Z.**


	5. Hello

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! I guess they motivated me to write this a lot faster than I expected. This chapter is very flashback heavy and you will finally get to find out exactly what happened to Molly. As an added note, this chapter takes a great deal of inspiration from the song Hello by Evanescence. Anyway, please enjoy.**

**WARNING: This chapter contains character death.**

Chapter 5: Hello

_Today, Ceridwen Jacklyn Holmes was turning five and God help anyone who tried to stop Molly Holmes from making everything perfect for her daughter. Sherlock told her she was fussing too much, but she wouldn't hear it. The pathologist came home from work very early that afternoon, arms laden with bags full of most of the ingredients she would need to make Ceridwen's favorite meal and a large chocolate spiral cake. Sherlock was there to greet her, having agreed for his wife's sake to stay off any cases on their daughter's birthday. He honestly didn't understand what the big deal was. This day simply marked when exactly five years ago that the child had been born. He didn't see why that necessitated giving her gifts._

_ "This must be one of those sentiment things that I deleted a long time ago." the detective commented as he helped Molly set the bags down on the kitchen table._

_ "Brilliant deduction." Molly responded with a smirk before giving Sherlock a quick kiss to stop him from frowning at her sarcasm. Then a look of realization crossed her features and it was she who frowned. "Oh! I forgot to get more sugar. There's always something." The woman sighed and headed towards the door. "I'll just pop over and get some. I'll be back soon."_

_ "Wait. I'll go with you." Sherlock called, surprising Molly._

_ "Oh, you don't have to. It's just a quick trip."_

_ "I've been here all day. I need to stretch my legs and I'm bored." The pathologist raised her eyebrows at this, but then smiled and together they left and hailed a cab. When they got to the store, Sherlock's eyes roamed around, taking in everything. The last time he'd been here had been ages ago. Molly reached for a bag of sugar in the baking aisle, but her husband stopped her. "Pick a different brand. That one has a shady past with cocaine smuggling." Molly didn't even bother to ask how he knew and grabbed a different bag. She was amused when Sherlock decided to stop at the office supplies aisle and get a small notebook._

_ "I didn't know you needed a new notebook." At this, Sherlock looked down at Molly blankly before responding._

_ "It's for Ceridwen." he said quietly, obviously not wanting to admit this and anticipating Molly's reaction._

_ "Really? I thought Sherlock Holmes didn't do birthday gifts."_

_ "I don't. I just decided to take the opportunity to buy Ceridwen something she needs." He was avoiding his wife's gaze and she saw right through him._

_ "Sure." she said, grinning. They bought their items and left to get a cab home. Mrs. Hudson wouldn't be bringing Ceridwen home from school for another couple of hours, so Molly had time to prepare everything, but she hurried into the cab when she noticed it had gotten cloudy. The last thing they needed was to be rained on. As they sat in the cab, Sherlock quietly scrutinized the bag of sugar Molly had chosen while she stared up at the sky out the window, thinking of how ecstatic Ceridwen would be when she saw her cake. Neither of them saw the lorry that was out of control and heading straight for their cab. When it hit, the left side of the cab caved in and the back end of the vehicle slid into the side of a nearby building. Everything went fuzzy and suddenly, Sherlock found himself lying on the pavement next to Molly, who was halfway out of the totaled cab._

_ "Molly, you're bleeding..."_

_ "Am I? I can't feel my legs. What's happening, Sherlock?" Her voice was very faint and there was blood spattered across her face._

_ "You'll be alright. Hang in there. I'm here." He tried to reach over and wrap his arm around her, but was greeted with excruciating pain and he noticed that there was something off about his arm. It probably wasn't normal that his ulna was sticking out. He crawled over and cradled Molly's form with his other arm instead._

_ "I'm cold."_

_ "You're losing a lot of blood, but it'll be alright. Help is coming. Just stay with me." In the back of his mind, Sherlock registered the flashing lights and sirens and shouting._

_ "It's okay...I know I don't have long...just promise..."_

_ "W-What are you talking about, Molly? You're going to be fine...everything is going to be fine..." He did not like that his wife's eyes were barely open. He did not like the sadness in her voice. Why was she smiling? This was not a time to be smiling. He didn't understand._

_ "...promise me you'll look after our little girl."_

_ "Of course I'll look after her! We both will! Stop being ridiculous!" Sherlock replied hysterically. He was growing light headed and there was moisture running down his face. Was it rain or tears?_

_ "It's okay...I love you, Sherlock..."_

_ "Molly...stay with me...please...you'll be fine..." He pressed his forehead to hers as if it would somehow lend her some of his very life force. "Stay with me..." he hadn't even noticed that she was no longer breathing. He just kept holding her close and whispering to her that it would be alright. Then he felt someone grab him and start to pull him away from Molly. He shouted and fought back, but the next thing he knew, he had passed out._

* * *

As Sherlock saw Ceridwen fall unconscious, panic struck him and he immediately felt for her pulse. Faint, but still there. The rise and fall of her chest was barely visible, but she was still alive and that's what counted. The girl's small form was even paler than usual and her thin lips were slightly blue. She was in the second stage of hypothermia, Sherlock noted. He held her even more tightly. He was _not_ about to lose his daughter. He was _not_ about to break the promise he'd made to Molly. After a moment, he closed his eyes and buried his face in Ceridwen's hair.

Then Sherlock heard gunshots and his eyes snapped open. _John..._he thought and he looked towards the door in time to see it burst open. Doctor John Watson came in looking shaken, but determined. The moment he saw Sherlock and Ceridwen, he rushed over to them.

"Oh my God. She's got stage two hypothermia. We need to hurry, there's an ambulance waiting outside the plant."

"I know. What took you so long to get here?" John didn't reply and watched anxiously as Sherlock slowly got to his feet with the ten year old in his arms. He took a few steps and faltered. John threw out his arms to catch them, but Sherlock straightened. "Maybe you should give her to me. You're showing signs of hypothermia too."

"No. I'm fine." the dark haired man snapped, glaring at his best friend. After a few more uncertain steps, Sherlock seemed to regain some of his strength and began striding briskly in the direction of the exit (noticing the wounded, unconscious guard as they left the storage room). Not even the dark could get in his way. He knew exactly where he was going.

The moment they were in sight of the ambulance, paramedics ran to meet them, but Sherlock refused to let go of Ceridwen. He stared down anyone who even looked like they might to try and separate him from his daughter. Wordlessly, he climbed into the ambulance with her still in his arms and moments later, they were headed for the nearest hospital.

* * *

_It was DI Lestrade who came and took Ceridwen out of school that afternoon. He didn't think he would ever be able to forget the look on the little girl's face when he told her why he was taking her to the hospital. She was only five, but she was a pathologist's daughter. She understood the concept of death. She understood that she would never see her mother again. When Greg Lestrade explained to her that her mother had been killed in a traffic accident and her father had been hospitalized, Ceridwen did not burst into tears. No. Tears could not express the depth of what she was feeling. She just stared straight ahead and her eyes said it all. Her striking, silver-blue orbs were full of something that could only be described as emptiness, like she didn't know who she was anymore. The fact that she was only five made it all the more frightening. It was the one of the most heartbreaking things Lestrade had ever seen._

_ When Sherlock's doctor came out of his room at the hospital, Lestrade jumped up to speak to her._

_ "How is he? Is he going to be alright?"_

_ "Well, physically, he sustained a few severe injuries, but he will recover fully in a month. However, his psychological trauma is another matter. When he regained consciousness briefly, he demanded to know his wife's condition and see her immediately. He refuses to believe she didn't survive." she explained before noticing the little girl who had been sitting next to the detective inspector. "Oh my, is she the daughter?"_

_ "Yeah. I picked her up from school as soon as I heard what happened. Sherlock would want me to make sure she's safe." At this, the doctor's expression became deeply sympathetic._

_ "I'm so sorry. She looks like she's taking it really hard. Is there anything I can do?"_

_ "Thanks for the offer, but I don't think there is much you could do. She's a really shy kid and you being someone she doesn't know might not help matters." Lestrade replied and the doctor nodded in understanding._

_ "Do you know who's going to take care of her while Mr. Holmes recovers?" The silver haired man was surprised by this question as it had not occurred to him yet, but after a moment of thought, he answered._

_ "I suppose her next of kin would be her uncle, Mycroft Holmes. I'm sure he's aware of the situation by now and will send someone to come get her."_

_ "I see. Excuse me, I must get back to work now. My condolences." With that, the doctor walked away and Lestrade turned back to Ceridwen, taking off his coat and placing it around her tiny shoulders._

_ "Your dad's going to be alright, but you're going to have to live with your uncle for a while. Maybe in a few days you can come back and see him." Ceridwen did not show any reaction at all and continued to stared blankly ahead. Lestrade gently put his arm around her in an attempt to be comforting, but again she showed no response. The inspector's feeling of worry deepened and it occurred to him that the Watsons might not know what had happened yet. He took out his phone and called John to tell him. He didn't notice until the conversation was over that Ceridwen's small, pale hand was tightly grasping his sleeve, though she was still staring into space. Whether this was a good or bad sign was completely beyond the man's knowledge, but at least she knew he was there. A few minutes later, Anthea showed up to collect the five year old. "Come on, Ceridwen. You've got to let go now." At first, the girl didn't budge, but then she let go of Lestrade's arm and stood up to follow Anthea out of the hospital, leaving behind the coat the man had put on her shoulders._

* * *

A genuine smile graced Sherlock's lips when he saw Ceridwen's eyes flutter open. It seemed to take her a moment to remember what had taken place and realize she was in a hospital bed.

"Hello, dad." she greeted him softly. "How long have I been out?"

"A few days." At this, Ceridwen looked slightly annoyed. She would have schoolwork to make up.

"What happened to Cecilia Moriarty?"

"Her name is legally Cecilia Richards and she is a pale shadow of her father. There were several glaring holes in her planning and security that wouldn't have been there if she was anything like James Moriarty. Right now, she and her accomplices are in prison for kidnapping, assault, and attempted murder." Ceridwen relaxed at this and started to notice how tired her father looked. She wondered what percentage of the last few days he had spent sitting here with her. "How are you feeling?" he asked, almost as if he'd sensed her thoughts and was trying to prevent her from voicing them.

"I'm not cold anymore, but I ache all over."

"That will fade in the next couple of days and then you will be released." The detective then reached into his coat and took out two slips of paper. Upon closer inspection, Ceridwen realized they were plane tickets to Germany. "When you are, you and I are going to go on holiday. And before you ask, school is going to be out for the holidays soon anyway and you are most definitely deserving of extra time off." He put the tickets back in his coat pocket and waited for his daughter's reaction.

"Why Germany? Oh, client, of course. Who's coming with us to take care of me while you're working?"

"It's just us. I was thinking you'd be my assistant on this case." Upon hearing this, Ceridwen stared at her father in disbelief, which he misinterpreted.

"If you don't want to go, then-"

"Are you joking? I wouldn't miss this for the world!" she cut Sherlock off, her tone full of excitement, though her voice was still quiet and a little hoarse. If it weren't for the fact that she would probably injure herself doing it, she would have thrown her arms around the man in a tight hug. Instead she settled for a grin which Sherlock returned, but then she grew serious and started staring at her lap. "Dad...I'm...I'm sorry...for running away...it was stupid..."

"Yes, it was foolish, but John explained it to me and I realize that I must make a stronger effort to meet your needs." Sherlock replied sincerely. One of the reasons he wanted to take Ceridwen with him to Germany was that he could use the trip as an opportunity to spend quality time with her, though he would have difficulty openly admitting it. Ceridwen looked up at him and smiled appreciatively.

"So has anyone else come to see me?" she asked.

"Well, other than the horde of reporters trying to get in here to talk to you, the Watsons, the Lestrades, and Mrs. Hudson have all been here. Oh, that reminds me." Sherlock paused as he drew a brand new collapsable magnifying glass out of his pocket and handed it to her. "I believe you broke the first one I gave you in the process of being clever. It would be remiss if I did not reward you with a replacement." he told her and this time she didn't care about her injuries. She practically flew forward to hug him and he winced at the cast on her wrist pressing into his side, but never the less he gingerly returned the gesture. "Hey! Careful! You could hurt yourself!" he scolded, but she ignored him and nestled her head against his shoulder, smiling. The man hadn't expected her to react this way, but he found he didn't mind. His only worry was that she might have set back her healing process.

"Thank you, dad. I'm fine." To be honest, hugging was very painful and Sherlock could hear the strain in Ceridwen's voice, so he could easily see the lie, but she didn't care. She just wanted to hug her father. After a few moments, he gently pulled her away and let her lay back against her pillows. She groaned and closed her eyes.

"I told you."

"Shut up." They both laughed at this.

* * *

_Mycroft Holmes watched his five year old niece stare blankly out the window with a worried expression on his face. Multiple people had tried and failed to get her to eat let alone respond when spoken to. Then he watched as she took a seat on the piano bench, probably tired from standing for so long. She wasn't looking at the piano. She was looking at some random point beyond it, but it still sparked an idea in Mycroft's head. He came over and sat next to her to play a chord on the piano. At first, he received no reaction, but when he played a few more chords, Ceridwen's small hand reached up and started plinking out a simple melody to go with his chord progression until they had the makings of a beautiful song. Eventually, the little girl looked up at her uncle and the faintest of smiles came across her lips. They stopped playing and Mycroft smiled back at her, glad to have finally gotten through to her._

_ "Would you like to visit your father tomorrow morning?" he asked cautiously and she slowly nodded before turning her attention back to the piano. "Would you like me to teach you a piece?" She nodded again and he proceeded to show Ceridwen how to play Für Elise. After that, he managed to convince her to eat something before she fell asleep on the sofa. The next day, he took her to the hospital and they didn't even have to wait to get in to see Sherlock. When they came in, they immediately saw that John, Mary, and little Dean were already there. None of them had seen Ceridwen since the accident and they instantly noticed her solemn demeanor. She said nothing to any of them and simply hopped onto Sherlock's bed and curled up next to him. The conversation did not register with her. She was focused solely on the comfort of her father's presence beside her. _

_ Before Ceridwen had come in with Mycroft, Sherlock had been speaking quietly with John, a tired, deeply depressed expression on his face, but when the five year old came and nestled herself up against him, he wrapped his good arm around her small form and held her close, feeling a pang of what could only be hope._

_ "Am I dreaming?" Ceridwen suddenly asked, her voice barely whisper. It was the first thing she'd said in nearly a week._

_ "No. This is real." Sherlock answered, though he didn't want to believe his own words. Tears began to stream down the girl's face._

_ "It's not fair."_

_ "I know. Don't cry." Everyone else in the room fell silent when they saw Ceridwen sobbing and Sherlock holding onto her like his very existence depended on it._

**A/N: Sorry for leaving it off on such a depressing note, but there you have it. I wanted to illustrate why Mycroft has a soft spot for Ceridwen. I hope it came out well. Anyway, so ends this story arc and begins a new one. I really hope you are enjoying this story and continue to send lovely reviews. I owe you all for a lot of my inspiration. Thank you. ~T.Z.**_  
_


	6. Sein Alles

**A/N: Hey everybody! Sorry it's taken so long to update! I got weighted down with school work. I hope this makes up for the long wait. This new story arc will contain a lot of German, but I will try to make it clear what it is being talked about for those of you who don't know German. However, I myself am not fluent and thus if you spot any errors, please do not hesitate to correct me. This chapter's title means "His Everything". Please enjoy!**

Chapter 6: Sein Alles

With her injuries healed, Ceridwen was released from the hospital and returned home to 221B Baker Street. One of the first things she did when she arrived was retrieve her uniform ties from her room and burn them in the fireplace. Sherlock did not object, in fact, he helped her. With her ties in ashes and a merry fire lighting the room, Ceridwen went over to the piano and began to play, enjoying the sensation after having her wrist in a cast for so long. Wordlessly, Sherlock picked up his violin and started to play with her and she smiled. A few minutes later, Mrs. Hudson came up with some shopping bags in her arms.

"Hoo hoo! Lovely tune, you two. You should play together more often." the old woman greeted, setting the bags on the kitchen table. As soon as they finished, Ceridwen rushed over to help Mrs. Hudson unpack the shopping. She was so determined to be helpful that she was climbing up onto the counter to put things on the shelves normally out of her reach. "Oh, dear, do be careful. The doctor said you shouldn't do anything strenuous." Mrs. Hudson cautioned, though she was smiling at the ten year old's eagerness. Sherlock watched with a curious expression on his face.

"It's no trouble." Ceridwen replied with a small smile and her father was struck by just how Molly like she was being. If he were to ask why she was suddenly so determined to be helpful, she would probably reason it away by pointing out Mrs. Hudson's hip, but in actuality it would be because kindness was a part of her nature. "There, that's everything then?"

"Yes. Thank you, dear." With that, the young girl hopped down from the counter and went back into the sitting room.

"Ceridwen, you need to start packing for Germany. We're leaving tomorrow morning." Sherlock reminded her and she scampered off up the stairs immediately, causing him to let out a low chuckle.

* * *

_The cab ride home with her father when he was finally released was silent. Mrs. Hudson quietly welcomed them in, but Sherlock only gave a slight nod in response and they went up to 221B. The first thing Ceridwen did was sit down at Molly's piano and begin to play. A slow, sad melody poured from the instrument and for a long moment, Sherlock just watched, intrigued. Then, hesitantly, he picked up his violin and joined her in a requiem for Molly. All of their grief, pain, and sorrow was expressed in every note and when the piano stopped, Sherlock stopped as well and looked over to see his daughter shaking and whimpering convulsively as tears fell profusely from her eyes. She was crying even harder than the first time she saw him after the accident. It took the man a few minutes to figure out what to do about this, never having been one to know what to do around crying people. Reaching his decision, the detective placed his violin on his shoulder once again and continued where he had left off. The sound of Ceridwen's whimpers faded away and for a while she just stared at him, then she turned back around with a look of determination and started playing again, though tears still streamed down her face. However, that faded from her as well, until she had become stoic (something which looked unnatural on a five year old)._

_ When their piece ended, Ceridwen went to curl up on the sofa and stared blankly across the room into the fireplace._

_ "What have you learned from this?" Sherlock suddenly asked, speaking for the first time in hours. The small girl looked over at him, unsure what to say. He came and sat next to her. "You must never let your emotions take over you so completely. If they are inhibiting your ability to function as a rational being, you must shut them down. Do you understand?" After a moment, Ceridwen nodded. "I'm going to show you a way of organizing your mind that with practice will make this easier for you. Close your eyes." Sherlock knew she was a bit young for this, but it was something he believed she needed to be able to do for both their sakes._

* * *

For the first time in her life, Ceridwen Holmes found herself on an airplane. She didn't know whether she found it fascinating or terrifying, but by the time they landed in Munich, she was certain that it had affected her brain.

"You're suffering a minor case of jet lag. It'll wear off." Sherlock told her as he hailed a cab and she just nodded, eyes a little bleary. He directed the driver to their hotel and a few minutes later, they were checking in. It was an expensive looking place, but Ceridwen was well aware that they could easily afford it. Despite their normally modest life style, she knew that as a member of the Holmes family, her father was in fact very wealthy. "You remember all the German I taught you, yes?" he asked her as they unpacked their things in their (very nice) room.

"Of course."

"Good. It may become particularly important." Sherlock had at various points to take it upon himself to teach his daughter a variety of languages, knowing it would be easy for her since she was a child and it would serve her well later on in life. Now was his chance to see just how successful he had been. "This evening, we will be dining with our client, Mark Schmidt. He most likely expects you to be much older and thus will not take us seriously unless you show him your exceptional intelligence and competence as my assistant."

"Understood." It wasn't like Ceridwen needed much prompting to show off her brainpower, but sometimes she needed to be reminded not to lose sight of the fact that she was physically years younger than her mind.

That evening, father and daughter left the hotel and made their way to a small restaurant. Ceridwen held firmly onto Sherlock's arm as she took in her surroundings. She liked Munich already. When they arrived at the establishment, the girl was struck by how warm and pleasant it was inside. As the consulting detective scanned the dining area, he seemed to recognize a young, brunette man in a suit and tie, sitting a patiently at a table.

"That is Mark Schmidt over there." Sherlock told Ceridwen softly. When she gave him an inquisitive look, he elaborated. "He is the roughly twenty-eight and the suit and tie indicate an office job, but not a high paying one going by the fit of the suit. It is also clear from the way he is looking around and not ordering anything yet that he is waiting to meet someone here." He would have gone on, but there was no need to and he was already getting the satisfaction of seeing Ceridwen beam at him in admiration.

Together, they approached the man's table and Sherlock greeted him.

"Guten Abend, Herr Schmidt. Ich bin Sherlock Holmes und das ist meine Tochter Ceridwen." He introduced himself and Ceridwen, holding out his hand for Schmidt to shake. The man smiled and stood to shake Sherlock's hand, only giving Ceridwen a passive glance.

"Ah! Herr Holmes! Wo ist ihre Assistentin? Sie sagten, Sie würde mit Ihnen kommen." Schmidt replied, asking where Sherlock's assistant was and not thinking for a second that she was in fact standing right there. The detective was not surprised, but it did not escape his notice that Ceridwen was scowling slightly.

"Meine Tochter ist meine Assistentin in diesem Fall." Sherlock told the man, putting a hand on Ceridwen's shoulder and explaining that she would be his assistant in this case. Schmidt frowned in disbelief.

"Ist das ein Problem, Herr Schmidt?" the young girl suddenly spoke up, asking if there was a problem with her working with her father in a firm tone that left the man glaring at her.

"Machen Sie Witze?" Schmidt couldn't believe that the man he had come to with his case was using his little daughter as an assistant and hadn't expected him to be offended by this as it implied that he wasn't taking his case seriously. It had to be a sick joke.

"Das ist mein völliger ernst. Ceridwen ist raffiniert und absolut fähig für diesen Job." Sherlock shot back, saying that he was very serious and his daughter was far more clever and capable than her age suggested. For a long moment, the two men were locked in a staring contest, but then Schmidt gave in and sighed in resignation before gesturing for the Holmeses to take a seat across from him. Having two sets of piercing, silver-blue eyes staring at him unnerved him into acceptance.

"Okay. Can we just get on with this?" the man switched to English, if only to get the detective and his daughter to stop staring at him. Sherlock rolled his eyes and Schmidt took it as a prompt to continue. "As I said before in my email, I have not seen my fiancée in two weeks and no one seems to know where she is. The last people who saw her were her students."

"So she's a teacher? A good one?" Sherlock asked. The brunette nodded and smiled sadly.

"Yes. Her students love her. So do her colleagues. In fact, I do not know anyone who does not like her." Schmidt replied and a hint of sorrow wormed its way into the detective's expression as he had been suddenly reminded of how it was the same with Molly. "I keep expecting to hear that her body has been found somewhere. I am very worried. I have tried contacting her friends and relatives, but they know nothing."

"What sort of person is your fiancée? How is it that everyone she knows loves her so much?" The consulting detective's eyes narrowed and the man shrugged.

"Anna is kind and always trying to do the right thing. She puts her students before herself." At the last statement, Sherlock perked up. He now had something to go off of. A moment later, a waiter came and Schmidt ordered a sandwich and coffee for himself before turning to the detective and his daughter. "Do you want anything? I will pay." Sherlock raised his dark eyebrows at this gesture and looked over at Ceridwen.

"Ceridwen, you should eat something." he said.

"What about you?" she replied. "You're a little gaunt." It had not escaped her notice that over the past few months, her father had become much thinner than usual and since the kidnapping incident, there was now also a tired, worn down look in his eyes. The girl was beginning to worry about him. However, she was unaware that his recent state was due to his own worrying over her, though if asked, he would hardly admit it. He had noticed little changes in Ceridwen's behavior after she had been released from the hospital, like how her eyes would go wide and her shoulders would tense up if someone moved particularly suddenly. More than that, though, was the muttering and thrashing she now did in her sleep. Every time he saw a trace of her trauma, he was filled with an overwhelming urge to protect her from everything and everyone. Her health seemed more important than ever now and he was neglecting himself.

"You know I don't eat when I'm working. I'm fine. You need to have something, though." Without further argument, Ceridwen quietly asked for a sandwich as well and the waiter walked away. "Now, Herr Schmidt, do you know any of the other teachers who work at Anna's school?

"Yes, of course. Her best friend is the headmistress."

"Tell me everything you know about her." Sherlock responded with a smirk.

* * *

_To Sherlock Holmes, the day was going perfectly. He had easily solved another high profile case for Mycroft and was once again threatened with knighthood, Molly had told him she would be bringing home a foot and some Chinese take out, and he had successfully caused his best friend's one year old son's first word to be "deduce" (much to said best friend's displeasure). Now he was gazing contently into his beloved microscope at a sample from his latest experiment, waiting for his wife to come home with the promised goodies. The sound of the front door opening and closing alerted him to the fact that Molly was home, but he did not move. He heard her come up the stairs and enter the flat. On the edges of his vision, he could see her place two bags on the counter. Then it occurred to him that something was off. Molly was being unusually quiet. Usually she'd tell him interesting things about the bodies she'd examined earlier in the day when she came home, but she wasn't saying anything. He looked up to see her open the take out bag with slightly shaky hands._

_ "I got your favorite." she said softly. "You can put the feet upstairs." The pathologist gestured to the other bag, but Sherlock just frowned at her._

_ "What's the matter?" At this, Molly seemed to jump a little and her hands started fidgeting._

_ "S-Sorry, what?"_

_ "What's the matter?" Sherlock repeated, more forcefully this time._

_ "N-Nothing! I'm...I'm fine." she shot back nervously, not looking him. Slightly irritated that she was being plainly untruthful to him, Sherlock stood and went around the table to place his hand under her chin and force her to look him in the eyes._

_ "No you're not. Don't try to lie to me, Molly. You are clearly distressed. Why can't you tell me what's wrong?" There was intense worry and slight anger in his striking eyes and Molly couldn't bring herself to keep it from him any longer. Upon seeing her look of resignation, Sherlock's expression softened and he moved his hand to her shoulder._

_ "Sherlock...I'm...I'm...I'm..." Molly struggled to get out what she wanted to say and his eyes narrowed._

_ "You are what?" he demanded, wishing she would just spit it out. The woman closed her eyes and took a deep breath before answering quietly._

_ "I'm pregnant." The silence that followed was almost palpable. Molly opened her eyes to see her husband staring blankly at her as if he couldn't comprehend what he had just been told. She could have sworn she knew the exact moment his brain registered the information and formulated a reaction because she could see it in his face. At first it was like a verbal keyboard smash and then it became coherent words._

_ "Are you sure?"_

_ "100%." Silence. Molly looked back at Sherlock anxiously._

_ "We're having a child." There was a tone of disbelief in his voice which the pathologist misinterpreted as displeasure._

_ "Yes...please don't be angry." At this, Sherlock's eyes widened, then he frowned._

_ "Angry? What makes you think I would be angry, you ridiculous woman?"_

_ "You're not angry? I just thought...you wouldn't be interested in having kids and-" Molly was cut off when the detective wrapped his arms around her waist and spun her around, laughing._

_ "No, no! This is wonderful!" He wasn't sure what made him say it. Maybe it was something to do with instincts and pair bonding. "Children are fascinating and how could I pass up the chance to add another genius to the population." All Molly could do was grin like an idiot in response for a moment. She was so overjoyed that she grabbed the lapels of her husband's jacket and yanked him into a quick, but still very intense kiss which left the man grinning as well, clearly very satisfied with himself for earning such a passionate gesture. "Who else knows?"_

_ "Just Mary. I think I'll tell Mrs. Hudson next. Poor woman's been wanting grandtennants for ages. Tell John and Greg if you like. I think they'd enjoy hearing it from you." Molly said, finally going back to serving up Chinese take out._

_ "Alright, but we've got to keep this from Mycroft for as long as possible. He'll pester us like a vulture pecking at carrion if he gets wind of a new Holmes. I really don't want to endure a lecture on tradition from my brother and I certainly don't want to hear his anecdotes about fatherhood for as long as possible. I'm not going to raise our child the same way he raised Leland and Sefton." Sherlock warned and Molly giggled before nodding in agreement. While she busied herself with dinner, the consulting detective sent off a text to his two friends. A few minutes later, he got the distinct sensation that somewhere on the other side of London, a certain doctor was staring at his phone with his mouth hanging open and incoherent noises coming out and a detective inspector of Scotland Yard was demanding that someone find him a drink._

* * *

Their first night in Munich, Sherlock did not sleep. He sat silently on his bed and watched Ceridwen toss and turn in her sleep. That was when he truly came to accept that she was no longer his greatest experiment. She was far more. She was his everything and it had been that way since the day she was born. It had just taken him a great deal of time and tragedy to see it. He had much time to think about this through the night and when he heard her mutter protests, he involuntarily reached out and took her hand. The detective didn't know why he was doing it. It just seemed like the correct thing to do.

At dawn, Sherlock gently shook Ceridwen awake and told her they had a long day ahead of them. She looked up at him, sleepy eyed, as he placed a bottle of water and two bananas on the bedside table.

"Is that breakfast?"

"For you, yes." At this, the ten year old just raised her eyebrows and sat up. As she peeled a banana, she caught her father staring at her.

"What?"

"Ceridwen, what do you dream about these days?" The girl was surprised by this question, which seemed very out of the blue. For a long moment, her only response was to blink at Sherlock, but then she spoke.

"I don't know. I can't remember. Why?"

"Passing curiosity." They narrowed their eyes at each other, each not entirely sure the other was being truthful. However, the subject was dropped and they went about their business preparing for the day.

**A/N: So, how's this? You will have noticed that the flashback plotline has changed with the second flashback in this chapter. Turns out Ceridwen has cousins! I'm really anxious to hear what you have to say about everything. Thank you for each and every review that I've gotten or might receive. It means a lot. ~T.Z.**


	7. Wie der Vater, so die Tochter

**A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews! I'm sorry this chapter is a little on the short side, but my idea flow just sort of made it turn out that way. I hope you enjoy it in any case. This chapter's title means "Like Father, Like Daughter".**

Chapter 7: Wie der Vater, so die Tochter

"Look at this mantlepiece and tell me what you see." Sherlock commanded Ceridwen as they stood in the flat Mark Schmidt shared with Anna Herz. The ten year old girl approached the fireplace and examined the mantle's contents. There was a framed photo of the couple smiling with the sides of their faces pressed together. A number of other framed photos with Anna and her students were there as well. Various kitsch from places the couple had travelled were squeezed in amongst the photos. They had a common pattern of fantastical creatures and abstract designs.

"Ms. Herz deeply cares for each of her students and judging by the kitsch, is idealistic, a dreamer. She would not voluntarily leave them behind." Ceridwen observed, looking back at Sherlock and waiting for his evaluation of her skills.

"Good. What else? What's missing?"

"There was yet another picture on the end of the mantle there. The place where it was is absent of dust." At this, Sherlock smirked and pat her on the head. She'd done well. The two turned to Mark, who's mouth was hanging open in surprise as his brown eyes flickered between the empty space at the end of the mantlepiece and the two dark haired Englanders.

"Mein Gott! I didn't even notice it was gone!" he exclaimed. "The missing photo. It was of Anna and her best friend, Elisa Mond."

"Where might we find Ms. Mond?" Sherlock inquired.

"Well, ehm, during the holidays, Anna and Elisa usually spend their afternoons at the market or in their favorite café on Albert Strasse." Schmidt replied and the consulting detective grinned. Their lead was going somewhere.

"Right. Ceridwen, I believe this would be the perfect time for you to see a German Christmas Market." Sherlock looked down at his daughter to see her eyes twinkle with excitement. He turned back to Mark and spoke again. "Aufwiedersehen, Herr Schmidt. We will contact you if we discover anything." With that, he left the flat, Ceridwen holding onto his arm and practically skipping with enthusiasm. As they walked down the street in the direction of the plaza, Sherlock told the ten year old his plan. "Even if Ms. Mond does know that her friend is missing, she will still go to the market. Humans are creatures of habit. Once we find her, we'll have to do a bit of acting. You will pretend to be lost and bump into her and ask her for help. We will create the illusion that she has helped you find me and I will act grateful. I will offer to buy her a cup of coffee. I have no doubt that she will accept. From there, I will be able to interview her." he explained and Ceridwen nodded in understanding. It seemed simple enough.

They walked into the plaza and the girl was immediately struck by the beauty of the market. The sky was dark and cloudy, but the place was lit up by cheery lights everywhere. It was cold, but warmth was coming from the stands selling hot food. The large crowd was filled with happy people and there were a number of children of all ages trying to persuade their parents to buy them this, that, or the other thing. Sherlock saw Ceridwen eyeing the pretzel stand and he thought _why not?_ He bought her a pretzel, claiming they'd look more normal if he got her something. She just smiled and ate as they scanned the crowd for someone who fit Elisa Mond's description.

* * *

_For Sherlock, the months following his finding out that Molly was pregnant felt long and arduous. Her belly was steadily growing larger and larger and with it the severity of her mood swings. One moment, she would be all sunshine and kittens, the next, hellfire and demons. On one occasion, she forced him to sit with her and watch all three Lord of the Rings films, but she sobbed uncontrollably through most of it "because they let Bill the Pony go". By the time Molly was seven months in, her husband was sure he was going to go insane and began to wonder why anyone thought having a child was a wonderful experience. Fortunately, he was still getting cases from Lestrade to distract him and for once, both the inspector and John were fully sympathetic with him. They had been through having a pregnant wife (twice in Greg's case) and frequently gave him pointers, whether he asked for them or not._

_ Molly insisted on continuing to work right up until it was time to have the baby. Sherlock did not object, knowing that her job wasn't particularly strenuous and it was actually in a hospital, so she'd be very close to where she needed to be when she went into labor. He frequently got to see her as well, due to their connected lines of work, so he could check up on her. He would bring her tea and ask to see so and so's body. Most of the time, she would smile and bring out the body, but sometimes if even the slightest thing hadn't gone right in her day, she would shout accusations at him and tell him to get out and then burst into tears and apologize profusely._

_ Sherlock did his best to focus on the exciting parts of having a child. He found it fascinating that a human life was growing inside Molly that would one day be able to speak and call him dad and retrieve body parts from the fridge for him when he asked. This child was his greatest experiment._

_ As it turned out, it was a she. They were having a girl and the moment this became known, the question of a name arose. Sherlock refused to give his daughter a normal name and wanted it to be significantly more sophisticated and interesting than Annette Olivia (the name of Sally's newborn daughter). Eventually, he and Molly were able to agree on Ceridwen Jacklyn. This also satisfied Mycroft and his insistence on tradition._

_ Unfortunately, when little Ceridwen finally decided that she wanted to come into the world, Sherlock was on the other side of London, tracking down a drug lord at 11p.m. However, Molly had been working a late shift that night, so she was right there in the hospital. By the time the detective got there, she was lying still in her hospital bed, beaming at the little bundle in her arms. Upon seeing Sherlock enter the room, she smiled tiredly at him and spoke softly._

_ "Hey."_

_ "Hello, Molly. I apologize for not being here sooner. How are you feeling?" The man approached the bed slowly._

_ "It's alright, Sherlock. I'm fine. Just tired. The only thing you really missed was me screaming for hours on and off." she replied before looking back to her small bundle._

_ "And...um...Ceridwen?"_

_ "She's a little underweight and the doctors say her immune system may take longer than normal to grow strong, but other than that, she's perfectly healthy. Would you like to hold her?"_

_ "I-I, uh, I don't know if-" Before Sherlock could fully express his discomfort, Molly had put their daughter in his arms and he found himself looking down at a pair of blue eyes identical to his own. "Hello." he said awkwardly and the child giggled. "I'm your father." She giggled again and he grinned involuntarily. The baby was a lot lighter than he had expected and he worried that if he adjusted his hold on her in the slightest, he'd somehow harm her. She was tiny and fragile looking, but there was a vibrance in her eyes and she seemed to truly understand who he was as she smiled at him. Never before in his life had Sherlock felt this way as he looked at the baby girl in his arms. If this was what it felt like to be a father, then it was worth more than any case anyone could ever offer him._

_ "You're going to be a good dad. I can tell." Molly commented, knocking him out of his trance. He gently handed Ceridwen back to her mother and placed a kiss on the woman's forehead._

_ "You cannot possibly be certain of that, but I will try to make it a reality."_

* * *

"That's her, over there."

"How do you know?"

"School crest on her bag."

"You need more evidence than that, but you're right. The way she walks suggests authority. The expense of her clothes indicates a headmistress. Always get at least three pieces of evidence before being sure of a person's identity." Sherlock told Ceridwen and she nodded. "I'll pretend to be interested in this stand here and you wander off. You know what to do from there. Are you ready?"

"Y-Yeah." the young girl replied, trying to quash her nerves, but failing miserably. Sherlock frowned in concern.

"You're afraid. Why?" There was a long moment in which Ceridwen appeared to be struggling to find words for her fear, but then she spoke quietly.

"I-I'm scared of crowds. What if someone snatches me again? What if I actually get lost? What if you can't find me? I'm _really_ scared, dad." she confessed and Sherlock's frown deepened. This wasn't the same girl who walked through London on her own in the middle of the night intent upon going all the way to her uncle's home. The man noticed her grip on his arm had tightened significantly and it occurred to him that she didn't feel safe here without him being close. He bent down to her level and put his hands on her shoulders.

"I understand your concern, but you will be fine. Just don't leave the plaza and if you can't find me, stay in one place and I'll find you eventually." he reassured her, but when she still looked terrified, he went on. "You can't let your fear control you like this, Ceridwen. Nothing great has ever been accomplished without placing oneself under a little risk. Now, are you ready?" At this, the ten year old took a deep breath, swallowed her fear, and nodded. Her father gave her a small smile and then they began their act. He turned to look at something that was being sold and Ceridwen meandered off into the crowd, making it look like she was aiming for a candy stand, but actually making a bee line for Elisa Mond. She started running in panic and wasn't acting because she was surrounded by people much bigger than her and she couldn't see Sherlock anywhere. As she looked around, trying to spot him, she ran headlong into Elisa and fell over. The woman looked around, startled, and when she saw Ceridwen on the ground, she gave her a sympathetic smile and helped her to her feet.

"Tut mir leid!" Ceridwen apologized, looking up at Elisa nervously.

"Wo sind dein Eltern, Fräulein?" the woman asked her where her parents were.

"Ich weiß nicht, wo mein Vater ist. Könnten Sie mir bitte helfen Ihn zu finden?" The ten year old explained that she didn't know where her father was and needed help finding him. Tears began to form at the corners of her eyes. Elisa agreed to help, her tone kind and gentle and took her hand.

"Wo hast du ihn denn zu letzt gesehen?" She wanted to know where Ceridwen had seen him last.

"Durch die Brezeln." She said by the pretzels, though she had no idea where that was anymore. The woman began leading her through the crowd. As they went, she asked Ceridwen what her name was.

"Wie ist denn dein Name?"

"Ich heiß Ceridwen." She didn't give her last name, just to be on the safe side. A moment later, the girl could hear her father calling her name. He sounded panicked and soon, she could see him coming through the crowd. When Elisa caught sight of him, she instantly realized he was Ceridwen's father and watched as the girl ran to him. He lifted her into his arms and hugged her tightly. She held on to him with equal intensity. When the dark haired man saw Elisa, he put Ceridwen down and spouted gratitude.

"Danke Sehr! Ich danke Ihnen! Ich habe mir solche Sorgen gemacht! Kann ich mich bei Ihnen revangieren? Veilleicht können wir Sie zu einem Kaffee einladen?" He thanked her and asked her if he could buy her some coffee to do something for her in return for helping them. The woman smiled and blushed.

"Okay." They proceeded to head for Albert Strasse and Elisa beamed when she saw where the were going. "Das ist mein Lieblingscafé." She told them it was her favorite café and Sherlock grinned to himself. It was all part of the plan. They claimed a table and the detective got two coffee's and a tea for Ceridwen. "So, sind Sie Englischer?" She asked them if they were English. They had a bit of an accent and it was obvious that Ceridwen wasn't a name a German was likely to have.

"Ja."

"What brings you to Munich?" Elisa had a thick accent in English. Sherlock guessed the reason that she switched was because she wanted the practice.

"Ah, forgive me, I did not introduce myself. I'm Sherlock Holmes. My daughter and I are here on holiday, visiting a friend, Mark Schmidt." At this, the woman's eyes lit up in recognition.

"Elisa Mond. I happen to be good friends with Mark's fiancée. Well, used to be anyway. I knew your name sounded familiar. Anna probably mentioned you at some point."

"Oh, a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Mond." Sherlock shook her hand. "What do you mean 'used to be'? Did something happen?"

"Anna and I had a bit of a disagreement a few weeks ago. She went off in a huff and I haven't seen her since." Elisa explained.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I didn't see her at Mark's this morning. Any idea where she might be?"

"No clue. Nobody's seen her since our argument. Mark's getting really worried and I'm afraid if I tell him about what happened, he'll blame me." It was clear that the conversation was making Elisa uncomfortable, so she switched the topic. "So, where's your wife?"

"Oh, er...she's...gone. It's just me and Ceridwen now."

"Ah, I am really sorry. That explains why you were holding your daughter like she was about to vanish. I'm glad I could help get her back to you."

"I can't thank you enough for that, Ms. Mond."

"Please, call me Elisa." the woman said, her hazel eyes holding friendliness and a little something more. Sherlock raised his raven eyebrows at her and she smiled.

"Alright. You can call me Sherlock, then."

"It was very nice to meet you, Sherlock. I have to go now. I'll see you around." The woman finished her coffee and left the café. The detective turned to Ceridwen, grinning.

"Elisa Mond is a liar."

**A/N: I hope that was up to snuff. I tried to make the flashback funny, but I think it only ended up being fluffy *is only funny when not trying*. Please let me know what you think of everything. If I messed up any of the German, don't hesitate to correct me. Thanks as always! ~T.Z.**


	8. Ängstlich

**A/N: Sorry it took me a bit to get this chapter up. I'm working on two fics at once and real life is being stressful and getting in the way. Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews. They mean a lot to me and really inspire and motivate me to write. Sad to say, this chapter's only German is its title, which means "Worry" or "Concern".**

Chapter 8: Ängstlich

"Are we seriously going to break into a school in the middle of the night?" Ceridwen Holmes quietly asked her father as they hurried across said school's grounds (though they only followed the pavement, because they didn't want to leave footprints in the snow). The young girl held tightly to Sherlock's arm, her eyes darting about nervously.

"Yes. Specifically Ms. Mond's office. A look around there would be far easier and more informative than if we were to get into her flat." the man replied matter of factly, though this did nothing to stop his daughter from being nervous. When they came to the door, Sherlock picked the lock and a moment later, they were walking through the dark, eerie halls of a school at night. Since it was the holidays, the place was completely empty and the only thing they could hear was their own footsteps. The consulting detective could see that Ceridwen was very frightened by this atmosphere and trying to think what Molly would do to help her, he adjusted to grasp her tiny hand in his own large one. He could hear her breathing slow at this and he felt relieved.

It didn't take them all that long to find the room labelled as headmistress's office, though it felt like an eternity to Ceridwen. Sherlock picked this lock too and once they were inside, he immediately began scanning the room for useful data.

"You said earlier that Elisa lied about not seeing Anna since their argument. What could we find in her office that would tell us why?"

"I won't know what I'm looking for until I find it." This left Ceridwen still slightly confused, but never the less, she too began looking about, trying to spot something of significance. "Remember to leave everything as it was when we arrived. It would not do to have her noticed she's being investigated. And keep your gloves on." A few minutes later when Sherlock was looking in the trash, he made a sound of triumph. "Ah ha! Pile of bloodstained tissues confirms my observation that Elisa has been punched in the face recently."

"Dad, the files in this folder on her desk...she was going to sack someone and hire someone else named Jakob Aster." Ceridwen called a minute later, pulling out her little notebook to write down Jakob Aster's address, knowing the next step would be to contact this man.

"Who was she sacking?"

"Someone called Nina Glass." Sherlock smirked at this and stood up from his crouched position. "Can we go now?"

"Yes, Ceridwen, we can. Did you get Mr. Aster's information down? We're going to pay his home a little visit tomorrow." When the young girl nodded in response, he took her hand again and they snuck back out of the school, leaving everything as it was before they had come.

* * *

_The bedroom of a two year old Ceridwen was lit by a warm light as Molly sat beside the girl on her bed and read Treasure Island to her. It was another night in which Sherlock was off on a case and the pathologist wasn't working late, so she got to spend time with her daughter. Apparently on her husband's nights with Ceridwen, he got her to sleep by reading her Treasure Island and so Molly saw no reason not to do so as well. The toddler seemed to have picked up Sherlock's childhood obsession with pirates and enjoyed the story immensely._

_ "'Many's a long night I've dreamed of cheese- toasted mostly.'" the woman read and Ceridwen giggled._

_ "Toasted cheeeeeeeese. That's silly." she snickered in her little voice and Molly grinned._

_ "Yes, very silly." She continued reading for a long while, glancing up every so often to see if Ceridwen was getting sleepy yet. The girl's eyelids began to droop, but she insisted that her mother keep going._

_ "Isn't that adorable." a deep voice came from behind Molly. It was unfamiliar and frightening. The woman looked around to see a tall man standing there. He looked as if he hadn't shaved in two days and his eyes were bloodshot. She was so startled that the book in her hands seemed to jump away from her and thud on the floor. A loud gasp escaped her lips before she spoke._

_ "Who are you? Why are you in here?" she demanded, eyes wide with fear. Ceridwen peeked around from behind her, looking equally terrified. The man pulled out a gun and pointed it at them._

_ "It's a shame Holmes has such a nice family." the man said as he removed the safety. Molly began to shake and Ceridwen crawled onto her lap. She wrapped her arms around her daughter protectively and the little girl stared at the man, not quite understanding what was happening, but scared anyway._

_ "Please don't do this." Molly pleaded. "She's only two."_

_ "Like I said. A shame. You and her both gotta go." He cocked the gun. Ceridwen let out a small whimper and her mother tightened her hold on her. The pathologist began thinking of all her options at this point. She could try to fight back and buy Ceridwen a little time to run and hide. She could peacefully accept what was happening and tell her daughter to close her eyes. Or, she could keep talking and stall this gunman for as long as possible in the hopes that Sherlock would come and stop this. The third option seemed the most likely to turn out favorably._

_ "Don't you have a family?" she asked._

_ "Yeah, but that doesn't matter."_

_ "If you kill us, my husband won't stop until you've been brought to justice."_

_ "He won't be a problem. Trust me. Just shut up and say goodbye." the man snapped before carefully aiming his gun and preparing to shoot. Molly whispered to Ceridwen to close her eyes and the toddler shut them tight as her mother locked her dark brown gaze with the man's._

_ "Drop the gun or you die. Do it now." a low growl came from behind the man. Molly gasped and looked over to see Sherlock holding his own pistol to the man's head. A second later, the other gun was on the floor and the intruder was holding his arms up in surrender. "Now, I would really have no qualms about blowing your pathetic excuse for brains out for what you just attempted to do and send your masters a message..." He paused and glanced at a terrified Molly, his manically angry and dangerous expression softening just a little. "...but I won't. Because I'm not scum like you." Ceridwen had opened her eyes and was looking at her father now, frightened and confused by what she saw. Sherlock looked like he'd been through hell. His suit was ripped and he was bleeding in multiple places, including from the corner of his mouth. "The police will be here in a few moments." he said reassuringly. Sure enough, they could soon hear the sirens and people storming up the stairs. The police took the would be assassin away, but despite their insistence, Sherlock did not go to the ambulance that had accompanied them._

_ "Oh my God, Sherlock!" Molly exclaimed, hugging her husband the first moment she had a chance. "That man said...I thought...I thought they'd killed you..."_

_ "They thought they had too." the detective replied wryly as he returned her embrace. His heart still pounded with the adrenaline of nearly losing his wife and child. Ceridwen sat on the bed, wrapped in her blanket and still looking confused and scared. She was looking straight at her father again and he noticed over Molly's shoulder. He frowned and let go of Molly to kneel down on the floor next to the bed and place his hand on the side of her head, like he was examining her. "The man with the gun is gone now. There is no reason to be frightened any longer." he assured her. She reached out and touched the area next to a cut on his cheek with her tiny, pale hand._

_ "A lot of hurts." she said softly and then Sherlock understood. She was worried about him. There was a yanking sensation in his stomach. "Don't be a scary man too." She was worried about him and afraid that he was going to be just like the gunman because she had seen him with a gun pointed at someone too. She'd seen the will to pull the trigger in his eyes._

_ "Ceridwen, you need not worry about me. I promise." For some reason that Sherlock could not rationalize, he did not want her to have seen what she did. "I was protecting you and your mother." He sincerely hoped that the two year old understood._

_ "Hug." she responded quietly as if such an action would prove the validity of his words. The consulting detective glanced at Molly with an expression of discomfort and she gave him an encouraging nod. He looked back at Ceridwen and rose to fulfill her request, enveloping her in his long arms and finding it oddly reassuring. Molly beamed at the sight before her and wished she could take a picture of it to preserve it forever. When Sherlock let go and wrapped Ceridwen back up in her blanket, she pointed at the book on the floor. He picked it up as he recognized it, sending a brief smile to his wife._

_ "I'm sorry, dear. Dad can't read to you tonight. He and I need to talk." Molly told the little girl who looked back at them in disappointment as Sherlock placed Treasure Island on her bedside table. The brunette woman tucked Ceridwen into bed and placed a kiss on her forehead. "Everything's alright now. You should go to sleep." At this, the toddler nodded and closed her eyes. Molly practically dragged her husband out of the room, flicking off the light as she went. She pulled Sherlock to the bathroom and told him to stand still while she cleaned his injuries, a stern expression on her face. He watched her closely, occasionally flinching at her activities._

_ "I understand if you want to take Ceridwen and leave." the dark haired man said suddenly and Molly's eyes shot up to meet his own._

_ "Don't say that. I was aware of what I was signing up for when I agreed to marry you. Just please try not to cut it so close next time." she replied and Sherlock couldn't resist a grin. He knew there was a good reason he had chosen to be with Molly._

* * *

"Are we seriously breaking into this bloke's flat?" Ceridwen hissed as she watched her father pick the lock of the door to Jakob Aster's home.

"Are you going to ask if we're seriously doing this every time we break into someplace?" Sherlock retorted and his daughter scowled.

"What if we get caught?" This earned her a glare.

"I know what I'm doing, Ceridwen." At this, the girl remained silent and followed the consulting detective into Aster's flat. It seemed like any normal place, though Sherlock could easily see many of this man's problems and habits. "Look in the kitchen while I look in the bathroom." he ordered. The ten year old obeyed and headed straight for the fridge, wondering what could possibly be in the kitchen. She noted the bottle of wine in the back and box of restaurant leftovers. Then she heard her father call her and she came to the door of the bathroom. "What do you see?"

"Two toothbrushes. Why would a man living on his own have two toothbrushes?" she said after taking a moment to look around.

"Anything else?" Ceridwen spotted a bottle of women's shampoo and frowned as she sniffed it. "Smell familiar?"

"Yes. Does this mean Ms. Mond is his girlfriend?"

"Further proof would be the long blond hair in the brush in the cabinet. What additionally does this tell you?" The girl took a moment to think on this before answering.

"Ms. Mond is sacking someone so she can hire her boyfriend. Ms. Herz must have found out and objected." At this, Sherlock smirked, pleased at his daughter's deductive skills.

"Come on. Let's go. We've got what we came for." he told her and turned toward the door when suddenly, he paused. "Ceridwen, go back into the kitchen and climb out the window! Now!" he hissed after confirming that he could hear Elisa and a man's voice coming towards the door. The girl's blue eyes widened and her small, pale hand grabbed hold of Sherlock's coat sleeve anxiously.

"What about you!?"

"I'll be alright, just go! And wait for me once you're outside." The tall man practically shoved his daughter towards the kitchen and she gave him one last frightened glance before scrambling for the kitchen window. She crawled out onto the fire escape and waited silently, her heart pounding in her ears and her breaths coming out quick and shallow.

Inside, Sherlock had hidden behind the sofa and was listening in on Elisa and Jakob's conversation, though he didn't understand most of it and judging by the playful manner in which they were speaking, he had an idea why. He had no need of knowing how to say those things in German. When he heard the bedroom door close, he crept towards the door.

On the fire escape, it felt like and hour had passed before Ceridwen saw Sherlock running around the side of the building in search of her. The moment she caught sight of him, she got up and went to the railing. He spotted her and held his arms up, suggesting she jump down for him to catch. Ceridwen calmed herself by reasoning that it wasn't at all far and her father was there. Taking a deep breath, she leapt over the railing and fell into Sherlock's arms. He set her down on her feet and wordlessly took her hand. It was obvious even to him that she was upset with him for getting them in this situation. He had thoroughly scared her.

"We have to go back to the school tonight." he told her in as gentle a tone as he could manage as they sat in a taxi on the way back to the hotel. She looked over at him with wide eyes and he could feel her grip on his arm tighten considerably.

"Why?" she demanded, looking directly at him.

"Because that's where we'll find Ms. Herz." For a long moment, Ceridwen only stared at him, torn between his reasoning and the feelings of fear that were still gripping her. "You can stay at the room if you don't want to go." he offered cautiously. She blinked and Sherlock saw a change come over her. Suddenly, she was very calm and she let go of his arm before looking away and making it evident that she had chosen reason over emotion. She had shut down her fear. At this, the detective couldn't resist a small smirk. It seemed he had taught her well.

"I'm fine." she said flatly and remained silent for the rest of the taxi ride. When they arrived at their room, Ceridwen sat down on the sofa and opened her laptop. "Did you inform Mr. Schmidt of the situation?" she asked.

"No. It's best that he not know for now. He may do something rash if we told him." Sherlock replied passively before taking a seat in a rather comfortable armchair and closing his eyes to enter his mind palace. Ceridwen's pocket buzzed and she pulled out her phone to look at the text she had received: _How's Germany? -WL_ to which she quickly answered _Interesting. -CH_. She did not much feel like talking at the moment. Her phone buzzed again and she rolled her eyes before being surprised by who it was this time. _What's wrong? -DW_ it read and Ceridwen frowned in confusion. _What makes you think something is wrong? -CH_ she replied before reading John's latest blog entry about taking Mary and Dean to see Avengers Assemble re-released in the new hologram format. Then she received a text saying _You're being snippy. Of course something is wrong. -DW_ and this time, Ceridwen frowned in anger and shot back _Firstly, do you two share everything with each other? Secondly, how is just saying 'interesting' being snippy? Has it occurred to you that there are any number of things that could mean, including, perhaps, that I might be currently hiding from a serial killer in the rafters of a dark building and it is unsafe to have an ongoing conversation? -CH_. She hoped that would shut her friend up, but of course, she was very much mistaken. _We don't share everything. And if it were true that you were in that situation, then you wouldn't still be talking to me. In fact, you wouldn't have answered at all. -DW_ came in reply. With a final _Shut up. -CH_, Ceridwen put her phone back in her pocket and looked back to her laptop, still scowling. They probably enjoyed not having her around and were texting her because they were bored and thought it would be fun to annoy her. Suddenly, she found herself flooding with painful emotions at this thought and shut her laptop angrily before closing her eyes and attempting to lock them away in her mind. She systematically went in every room of her cottage and removed the painful feelings, stuffing them away in the cellar. The lights never seemed to work in her cellar, but she didn't notice until she was done with her work and paused at the foot of the stairs, just how dark the place was. Disconcerted by this, she quickly turned around and bolted up the stairs, shutting and locking the door behind her.

When she opened her eyes, it was many hours later and her father was gazing at her with an expression of passive curiosity. He said nothing to her and simply handed her a bag with a sandwich in it. When she had finished eating, they prepared to leave for the school.

**A/N: So, who do you think WL is? This chapter is dripping with vague and not so vague hints about things that will happen in the future. I'd love to hear what all of your predictions are. Also, what did you think of this chapter's flashback? One thing about this fic is that the flashbacks are always relevant to the surrounding present storyline in some way and it may not always be obvious. Oh, look at me, I'm trying to be clever and failing. Well, anyway, please review. I'll try to get a new chapter up sometime next week. ~T.Z.**


	9. Nur ein Kind

**A/N: Hey there! Thank you all so much for the reviews/follows/favorites! They are really encouraging and I'm glad you're enjoying this story. It's very meaningful to me to hear what you have to say. I hope this chapter does not disappoint. The title means "Only a Child". Oh yeah, and those of you who guessed about WL were right.**

**WARNING: The flashback might be fluffy enough to kept a whole village's worth of people warm in Antarctica.**

Chapter 9: Nur ein Kind

As Sherlock and Ceridwen Holmes walked through Munich, the young girl read the texts her phone had received while she had been in a meditative state. _You're only proving my point. Tell me what's got you bothered. -DW_, _You've made Weston feel guilty. Good job. -DW_, _I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. -DW_, _Weston and I got you a Christmas present. -DW_, _Please stop ignoring me. -DW_, _OMG were you serious about the hiding in rafters thing?! -WL_. Ceridwen rolled her eyes at the last one.

"What did you do?" she heard her father say suddenly, sounding somewhat annoyed.

"Sorry, what?" He showed her the screen of his phone, which displayed the text _Please tell your daughter to reply to her texts. My son is convinced that her life is in immediate danger. -GL_ to which Ceridwen gave an exasperated frown. "Weston does love to be dramatic."

"Hm, so do you. Tormenting your friends for fun is fine until they start taking you seriously." Sherlock replied.

"I wasn't doing it for fun! I just wanted Dean and Weston to leave me alone."

"Making them worry is not the way to do it. Trust me." the man scolded before shooting off a reply text that read _Assure you Ceridwen and I are in no immediate danger. Tell Weston and Dean she's ignoring them because she doesn't want to talk. -SH_. Ceridwen fell silent and put her phone back in her pocket. They didn't speak again until they had reached the school. As they approached it, the ten year old could feel her fear returning, rising up from the pit of her stomach. There was something about this place that just didn't sit well with her. It was colder than it had been the last time they were there and the wind seemed to blow right through her coat as she watched her father pick a door lock for the fourth time that week. She shivered visibly and it did not go unnoticed by Sherlock. "Would you like my scarf?" he offered casually as he pulled open the door. Ceridwen shook her head fervently. She wasn't ready to put anything around her neck yet since the kidnapping incident, plus, she didn't want him to sacrifice his own warmth. He frowned at her, wearing a look of concern, but nodded in understanding. They began to walk through the dark halls of the school and the atmosphere felt even eerier than before, if that was possible.

"Where do you think Ms. Herz is?" Ceridwen asked in a whisper that still felt too loud.

"Where would you hide a body in a school?" Considering she had never thought about this before, it took her a moment to come up with an answer.

"Well, if it wasn't premeditated, I'd hide the body in a basement storage room until I figured out a better place for it."

"Then that is where we shall look." Sherlock replied. It had been clear to him for a long time that Anna Herz wasn't just missing. She was most certainly dead. From the looks of things, Elisa Mond was the murderer and it was a crime of passion caused by a desperate desire not to be found guilty of corruption.

The two eventually found the door marked as the entrance to the basement and Sherlock easily picked its lock (his daughter was beginning to learn how to do it herself, just by watching). The stairs down were metal and rattled under foot. It was unnerving. When they got to the bottom, it was pitch black and the air was musky with the smell of concrete. The detective took out his torch and turned it on, illuminating the area before them. There was a hallway lined with doors followed by another hallway lined with doors. To Ceridwen, it looked like something out of a nightmare. Sherlock was very aware of her side pressed up against his arm as she held on to him as if for dear life. Normally he would have made a crack about her watching too many horror films with Neil, but these days, he wouldn't dare.

"We have to look at each door." he said with a sigh. "The one we're looking for shouldn't be too far." To both their fortune and misfortune, the discovery of the right door did not take at all very long, for when they moved to examine a third door, Sherlock spotted the traces of dried blood near the handle. When he opened the door, they were greeted with a wave of death stench that caused them to cough and a sight that made Ceridwen shriek. It was a sound the detective had never heard before and never wished to again.

Lying on the floor of the room in between two shelves stocked piled with boxes was a thin, short woman with straight brunette hair of a similar shade to Molly's. A pair of scissors was protruding from her chest, creating a wound that seemed to have spilt a great deal of blood. The woman's brown eyes were still open and looking right at them. Ceridwen was trembling visibly and Sherlock immediately pulled her close on instinct, forcing her to look away from the body. She didn't need to see this, especially not with the trauma she was still suffering.

"It's alright. It's not your mum. It's just Anna Herz's body."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Ceridwen replied softly before taking a deep breath and turning around. Her brain was running through everything that made this body _not_ her mother's just to keep her calm. "She's been dead a while judging from the smell." The girl coughed again and Sherlock positioned his torch on a nearby shelf such that when he knelt down to examine the corpse the room was illuminated enough to do so. He paused suddenly, thinking that he had heard the rattle of the staircase, but the sound did not repeat.

"Ceridwen, hide behind those shelves over there. If Elisa comes down here, I don't want her to know you're here." the detective ordered and Ceridwen obeyed shakily. She watched as Sherlock continued his examination, hoping they would get through with this soon so that they could leave this horrible place. "The angle of entry..." the man muttered with a frown as he looked at the pair of scissors. "Even in heels, Elisa is too short to have been the murderer..." Then a look of realization came across his face and a second later, the young girl understood too.

"So, Herr Holmes, Sie haben Anna gefunden. Glückwunsch." a male voice that they recognized suddenly said from behind Sherlock, congratulating him on finding Anna's body. The detective turned to face the man with a blank expression.

"Herr Aster." Jakob Aster stood before him, aiming a pistol at him. Sherlock raised his arms to show that he was weaponless.

"Wo ist Ihre kleine Tochter?" the man asked where Sherlock's little daughter was.

"Ich bin allein. Meine Tochter ist weit weg von hier." Sherlock lied, saying that he was alone and his daughter was far from here. In her position behind the shelves, Ceridwen felt her heart thump away loudly, panic rising inside her like a bowl of water that was being filled with stones. Her father was warning her to stay exactly as she was and do nothing to reveal his lie no matter what happened.

"Gut. Ich will sie nämlich nicht verletzen müssen." Aster didn't want to have to hurt Ceridwen, a strange statement for a murderer, but the detective could see why he might think that way.

"Wo ist Elisa Mond?" Sherlock inquired as to Elisa Mond's whereabouts, wondering how she was involved in all this.

"Sie hat mir von Ihnen und Ihrer Tochter erzählt, aber sie hat zu viel gesagt, also habe ich sie getötet." Aster replied, explaining that Elisa had told him about Sherlock and Ceridwen and had said too much to them. She had been too careless, so he had killed her to save his own neck.

"Idiot. War es das wirklich wert? Für einen lausigen Job? Sie haben zwei Menschen getötet! Was haben Sie sich gedacht?" Sherlock spat, calling Aster an idiot and asking him if all of this was worth a lousy job and the lives of two people. What was he planning to do with himself now? There was no way out.

"Halten Sie Ihren Mund! Jetzt muss ich Sie erschießen!" The man shouted back for Sherlock to shut up and told him he had to shoot him now. If he didn't, he'd have no chance of escape. The detective's whole body tensed as Aster cocked his gun.

"NEIN!" a young girl's voice cried and Ceridwen came swiftly out of her hiding place to position herself between her father and the murderer by hugging Sherlock tightly around the middle. Both men's eyes widened in shock and there was a long pause in which they stared at her, Aster hesitating because she was a child. However, only a second later, his resolve won over and he aimed his gun at Ceridwen. If she knew about everything, then she had to go too. Abruptly, Sherlock's anger and instincts kicked in and he pushed the ten year old away to grab Aster's pistol out of his hand and judo flip him to the ground. Pinning the man down, Sherlock took the gun and pressed the point to the side of the man's head.

"Sie können Ihre Waffe auf mich zielen, aber _niemand_ zielt auf meine Tochter! Nicht ohne Folgen!" the raven haired man growled in a low, dangerous tone, saying that Aster could aim his gun at him, but _nobody_ could aim a gun at his daughter without repercussions. "Haben Sie verstanden?" Sherlock added, cocking the pistol, asking if he understood.

"J-Ja..." Aster whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut in anticipation.

"Dad, don't!" Ceridwen pleaded and Sherlock could feel her small hand grasp his shoulder firmly. The gesture seemed to snap him out of his trance like rage and he grimaced in disgust at Aster before putting the safety back on the pistol and knocking him out. The detective stood, pocketing the gun and turning to Ceridwen.

"What were you thinking!? I told you to stay hidden! He could have killed you!" Sherlock snapped, adding _I would never forgive myself if that had happened._ in his head.

"I saved your life!" the girl rebutted angrily before growing sad and very quiet. "I can't lose you too."

"Don't be ridiculous. You are perfectly able to carry on without me."

"I know! It's just...I...I...I don't want to be an orphan." Suddenly, her meaning clicked in Sherlock's mind, his expression softening, and he reached out to brush a long raven lock out of her eyes, placing his other hand on the side of her face. "You were going to kill Mr. Aster, weren't you." she said softly and Sherlock frowned.

"No, Ceridwen. I promise I wasn't. I was only trying to frighten him." This was only partially true in the sense that Sherlock wanted it do be true because even he didn't know if he would have fired the gun if his daughter hadn't told him not to.

"Okay." she replied and Sherlock wrapped his arm around her shoulders before taking out his phone to contact the authorities.

* * *

_Even through the pounding of the rain and the booming of thunder, Molly could hear the faint knock on the bedroom door in the middle of the night. She immediately got up (carefully moving the lean, yet muscular arm that was draped over her waist so as not to disturb its owner) and opened the door to see a shaking three year old looking up at her with wide eyes._

_ "M-Mum...I-I'm scared..." the tiny girl managed to say and a flash of lightning and clap of thunder had her leaping into Molly's arms. The woman held her close and rubbed her back._

_ "Shhh, it's alright." she murmured to Ceridwen._

_ "C-Can I sleep with you and dad?"_

_ "What's going on?" a baritone voice came from behind Molly and she turned to look at Sherlock reassuringly._

_ "The storm is frightening Ceridwen. She wants to sleep with us tonight." Molly explained and her husband sighed. The three year old was completely irrational sometimes and he had been hoping to actually sleep tonight._

_ "Very well." he replied, seeing that nothing could be done about this and Molly carried the child to their bed, laying her between them. Another crack of thunder made Ceridwen curl into a ball with her eyes tightly shut. "Don't be alarmed. It's only a sound created by the rapid heating if air caused by lightning arcing through the atmosphere. It will not harm you. You are safe." Sherlock assured her, though it wasn't very effective._

_ "Would you like me to tell you a story, dear?" Molly asked, stroking Ceridwen's mess of black curls. The girl nodded and opened her eyes to look at her mother expectantly. Sherlock seemed somewhat interested too, unsure what sort of story his wife was about to tell. "There was once a young healer who was always willing to help anyone who came to her apothecary. Even so, she didn't have very many friends and was not at all wealthy. One day, a knight came to her demanding her help. She had never seen the knight before and he was rude to her, but he was a very handsome and clever knight and she was quite taken with him, so she helped him." Sherlock chuckled, immediately understanding where this tale came from, though he continued to listen. "After that, the knight came to her often and no matter how rude he was, the healer would always help him. One day, a wizard visited the healer and treated her well. She liked him very much and when the knight saw this, he was so clever that he knew right away that the wizard harbored no feelings for her and he told her so. It upset her, but she continued to help the knight when it turned out that he had been right. Over time, she began to accept that the knight probably only thought of her as another lowly peasant and would never return her feelings."_

_ "The knight is mean and stupid." Ceridwen interjected._

_ "Oi! Give the man some slack! Maybe he just wasn't very good with feelings and didn't know how to treat her." Sherlock scolded and Molly giggled before continuing._

_ "Anyway, the healer kept helping the knight because she knew from tales of his adventures that he was really a great man. Then one day, she noticed when he came to her apothecary that he looked sad. She told him that if there was anything he needed, he could trust her. It turned out that the wizard had returned and was actually an evil man who wanted to kill the knight. He tricked the other knights, who already hated the clever knight, and the king into believing that the clever knight was an evil dragon in disguise. Eventually, the whole kingdom started to believe this lie. The wizard threatened to kill the knight's best friend, the king, and the old woman who took care of him if he did not give himself up. The knight went to the healer for help once again and she agreed, knowing that he was not an evil dragon and wanting to see the wizard defeated. The knight confronted the wizard and was victorious, but he had to pretend that he had died with the help of the healer to save the three people close to him whose lives were in danger. The healer hid him while the rest of the kingdom believed he was dead. The knight fell in love with the healer and when he was finally able to prove that he wasn't a dragon, he took her away to his castle and married her. They were very happy together and had a beautiful daughter." Molly ended as she gazed contently at Sherlock, who was grinning back at her._

_ "What happened to the daughter?" Ceridwen asked. The pathologist laughed and wrapped an arm around the little girl._

_ "Why don't you think of that story yourself and tell it to me later?" Molly suggested and Ceridwen smiled at the challenge._

_ "Okay, mum. I will." She didn't even pay attention to the thunder and lightning anymore. The child grew silent as she began making up a grand tale about the knight and the healer's daughter. Eventually, she fell asleep._

_ "That was a very interesting rendition of history." Sherlock whispered. "I applaud your skill at distracting her from her fear."_

_ "Thanks." The woman blushed and Sherlock smirked before leaning over and pressing a brief kiss to his wife's lips. Content, they too fell asleep a few minutes later._

* * *

It took them much longer to deal with the police than expected, but eventually Sherlock and Ceridwen were allowed to return to the hotel in peace. At this point, it was very late at night, but with all the adrenaline still in her system, Ceridwen was wide awake and still processing everything that had happened. Mark Schmidt had been contacted and informed of the situation. He was devastated. Elisa Mond's body was found not long after Aster had been arrested.

"There are going to be a lot of reporters after us tomorrow." Sherlock told Ceridwen as they sat in their room, drinking tea. The ten year old knew for a fact that her father was not at all fond of reporters, and for good reason, judging from what she had managed to piece together. "We're going to stay here in this room tomorrow and then on Christmas, they'll leave us alone." This reminded Ceridwen that tomorrow was Christmas Eve and she would be spending it entirely with her father. She didn't expect gifts from him or anything, it just seemed nice and she didn't even know why.

"Alright." An hour passed before the girl spoke again, this time with a question. "Dad, how old were you when you started solving crimes?" Ceridwen asked out of the blue. The detective seemed surprised by the question, but he answered anyway.

"I was ten, just like you. Why?"

"Oh, just curious." With this, Ceridwen decided it was time for her to try to sleep. She changed into her pajamas and collapsed onto her bed in exhaustion. Sherlock observed her with an expression of fascination, trying to deduce the thought process behind her actions. Like Molly, she never stopped intriguing him.

**A/N: Well, I hope that was satisfying. To be honest, I feel like this chapter didn't turn out so great, but that's up to the reader. The next chapter will wrap up this arc and begin a new one. You'll get to find out a little more about Ceridwen's cousins, Dean Watson, and the Lestrade brothers. Please let me know what you think. Thanks! ~T.Z.**


	10. The Place at the Bottom of the Stairs

**A/N: Hey! Sorry it took a while for me to update. My life is really hectic right now and October was the worst month for me this year by a long shot. Thank you for your patience as I hammered this thing out in the moments I wasn't trying to do a million other things. I hope this is of decent quality. Please R&R.**

**WARNING: This chapter contains moments of Sherlock being a much less than exemplary father and discussion of psychological trauma.**

Chapter 10: The Place at the Bottom of the Stairs

When Ceridwen Holmes woke up on the morning of Christmas Eve, she found a neatly wrapped gift waiting for her on the bedside table. For a moment, she just stared at it and then slowly, she sat up and grabbed it. It was roughly the size of a small paperback book, though it was clear that that wasn't what it was. It was much too hard and heavy. She tapped it and heard the jostling of many small components. Formulating several ideas as to what it could be, the ten year old undid the ribbon and unfolded the emerald green wrapping paper to reveal a tiny wooden chess board that when opened out was shown to contain a set of tiny wooden chess pieces with magnets in the bottom to keep them on the board. A grin spread across Ceridwen's face when she saw CH carved into one corner. When she looked up, she noticed that her father was standing on the other side of the room, analyzing her reaction. Upon seeing that she was happy, he smirked, clearly very pleased with himself.

"You can play wherever you like now." he told her as he watched her hop out of bed and start setting up a game on the coffee table. "Hey, eat then play." he called, pointing at the tray on the table by the door which was covered in a wide range of breakfast foods. Ceridwen scowled, but never the less went over to the tray.

"What about you?"

"I'm fine."

"Dad, you haven't eaten since before we got here. That was almost a week ago. And you can't make the excuse that you don't eat when you're working because you haven't got a case on anymore." the girl replied, suddenly becoming very serious. The two stared at each other for a long moment, Ceridwen trying to understand why her father was neglecting to eat and Sherlock attempting to think of an answer that he felt comfortable with and that she would accept. "I can't eat all this myself and it would be a shame for it to go to waste." the ten year old added in an attempt to lighten the mood and prevent her father from being able to reason a refusal.

"Fine." This earned the detective a smile and he felt relieved. How was he supposed to explain that the sight of her tossing and turning every night made him lose his appetite? It didn't make sense to him that he should feel that way, which in turn enhanced his anxiety. He made a note to research her symptoms thoroughly, but for now, all he could do was make sure she was happy when conscious.

* * *

_When Molly entered 221B after a long day at work, she did not expect to find a large cardboard maze set up in the sitting room with a certain fourteen month old attempting to navigate it while her husband stood to the side, writing things in his notebook. For a moment, the pathologist just stood there, staring at the scene before her, but then she dropped her shoulder bag and glared at the man._

_ "Sherlock! What did I tell you about using our daughter for experiments!?" she snapped. The detective looked up at her with his eyebrows raised. He hadn't expected her to react so strongly. Setting his notebook on his desk, he went over to Molly and placed his hands on her shoulders._

_ "Molly, it's alright. She's having fun. Look." The woman looked over at Ceridwen to see the child sitting and actually carefully thinking about which way to go before choosing one path and crawling off down it, giggling all the way until she finally got to the end and Sherlock picked her up. "Well done, Ceridwen." The little girl giggled again and rested her head against her father's shoulder affectionately._

_ "Dad." she murmured cheerfully and Molly just stared for a long moment before finding words._

_ "Oh my God, was that her first word? Did she just say 'dad'?" Excitement was written all over the woman's features and she came closer, smiling._

_ "Actually, that wasn't. She's been saying words since this morning just after you left for work. Her first word was 'dead'." Sherlock explained with a smirk. "It's remarkable how quickly a child's mind begins to master language. I taught her the alphabet after lunch and although her motor functions are not developed enough to allow her to write yet, she can name a letter if presented with one. I plan to teach her to read tomorrow." It took Molly a little bit to process all of this. At first, she was a little put off that her child's first word had been something so morbid, but this was drowned out by pride in her daughter._

_ "Imagine that. Not even two and able to read. I shouldn't be at all surprised. She's your kid after all."_

_ "And yours." Sherlock added, causing Molly to blush._

_ "Hungry." Little Ceridwen suddenly said, tugging slightly on the lapel of her father's jacket._

_ "Ceridwen, you must work on making complete sentences. It's 'I'm hungry.'" he scolded, though he looked amused. Molly laughed and went into the kitchen to get Ceridwen some food. Sherlock followed with the little girl still in his arms. _

_ "She complains just like you too." The man chuckled at this and gently ruffled Ceridwen's shock of black curls._

_ "I'll make a detective of her yet." he said as he put her in her chair. Molly scowled at him playfully. "You would rather she be a pathologist?"_

_ "She can be whatever she likes, but I would rather she not choose anything crime related, whether that be committing it or solving it. This family already attracts enough danger as it is." Oh, so they were back on this topic again. They'd already had a lengthy conversation/argument about their daughter's safety when she was born. It always had a way of coming back to haunt him._

_ "Molly, I've told you, anyone who wishes either you or her harm will have to go through me and I am a notoriously difficult man to kill."_

_ "Can you promise that? Can you promise that you will protect her so long as you are able?" Molly was looking at him directly in the eyes now, completely serious. Sherlock came much closer to her and took one of her hands in both his own._

_ "Yes. In every way. I will never be my father's son." At this, the woman smiled and the mood lightened considerably. She went about feeding little Ceridwen and Sherlock changed the subject back to the girl's mental development._

* * *

Spending Christmas Eve playing chess with her father was by no means the most exciting thing that had happened to Ceridwen Holmes since she had arrived in Germany, but it was by far the most pleasant. In the end, Sherlock was the victor with three out of five wins. It was surprising to her that it was that close. Usually her father won by a long shot. Either he was letting her win or her strategy had gotten better.

By the time she was once again curled up in bed, Ceridwen was content and ready to nod off to sleep. Sherlock, of course didn't feel like sleeping and so was at the desk on his laptop, though he frequently glanced over at his daughter as if he was expecting something to happen. She closed her eyes and instantly found herself in her cottage. Vaguely related words and images floated around her as she walked around, coming in and out of the various rooms that she passed. The lighting seemed just a little dimmer than it had been the last time she had been here. Still, she didn't let it bother her and headed for the stairs that would take her into a dream state. It was a long set of stairs and when she finally got the bottom, the cottage dissolved and she fell into the darkness, memories and fears flashing before her eyes. She wanted to escape, but she was sinking rapidly, helplessly drowning in everything she had seen and heard and felt and never wanted to again.

"CERIDWEN!" The call echoed in her mind as her eyes snapped open. The ten year old was breathing heavily and trembling quite noticeably. Tears were streaming from her wide eyes and she was babbling incoherently. "Ceridwen, calm down! I'm here. You're safe." At this, she finally realized that Sherlock was leaning over her, gripping her arms firmly, trying to still her thrashing limbs, and she stopped babbling. It was much later in the night and the girl could see, even in the dark, the concern etched in her father's features. He knew something was very wrong. This was the first time she had started screaming in her sleep and as she sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder, he realized he, the man who usually had all the answers, had no idea what to do about this. Eventually, Ceridwen fell silent and Sherlock brought her a glass of water which she sipped at shakily. He said nothing to her and simply observed. He noticed that the hand that wasn't holding the glass was at her neck. When he added this to the list of symptoms she was exhibiting, it all clicked in his head. "It's alright. Just try to breath slowly." he told her, gently wrapping an arm around her (reasoning that close proximity of a person with whom one had a strong emotional bond was comforting and thus calm inducing). It took Ceridwen a half an hour to fully calm herself, by which time she just appeared rather shaken. "Would you like to go back to sleep?" The girl nodded and Sherlock let her lie back once again, hoping she wouldn't relapse.

In the morning, while Ceridwen was in the shower, the detective started a video chat with his best friend.

"Hey! So, how's Germany? I heard you caught yourself a murderer. That must have been really exciting for Ceridwen." John began with a smile. Mary and Dean weren't up quite yet, so he was whispering.

"Ceridwen had a panic attack last night." Sherlock cut right to the chase, not wasting time working up to what he really wanted to talk about. John nearly choked on his coffee.

"What!? Why!?"

"Ever since she got home from the hospital, she's been restless in her sleep, but last night, she started screaming and thrashing and when I woke her up, she showed a number of symptoms of panic attack. It's clear that her trauma from the kidnapping incident is much deeper than I initially thought." the dark haired man explained.

"Maybe you should take her to a therapist."

"Really, John? _I _don't trust therapists. What makes you think she will?" Sherlock sneered. A therapist was completely out of the question in his mind. He had to find some way of taking care of this within the parameters of the people Ceridwen trusted.

"How do you plan on helping her without consulting a professional?" There was a long pause at this in which Sherlock had one of his vulnerable moments.

"I...don't know." John could see from this just how worried his friend was for his daughter, to be openly admitting he didn't know what to do.

"Well, have you tried asking her what's wrong? If you can get her to talk about it, this will be much easier."

"I've tried to get her to talk about what that woman did to her before, but she avoided my questions. Observing her and reading her medical chart when she was in the hospital only gave me a basic idea of what she went through." Sherlock explained, frustrated, and John gave him a look of deep sympathy. Suddenly, the detective's expression changed as Ceridwen appeared. Her hair was damp and she was wearing the dark purple jumper the Watsons had given her for her birthday with a pair of black jeans.

"Talking to John?" she asked as she approached her father. The sight of the dusty blond man on the screen of Sherlock's laptop gave her her answer. He smiled at her and waved.

"Merry Christmas, Ceridwen! Did your dad get you anything?" This earned the doctor a glare from Sherlock that only made him smile wider.

"Yeah, he gave me a beautiful little portable chess set." she replied, grabbing the object and holding it up for John to see.

"That's wonderful! I'm particularly impressed by the fact that he even bothered. You know how he feels about Christmas." The glare Sherlock was giving him intensified at this and Ceridwen laughed. "You two going to be home for New Years?"

"Yes, in fact, we'll be home tomorrow night." Sherlock answered.

"Great! Dean and Weston are really eager to give you the present they got you, Ceridwen. To be honest, I haven't the slightest clue what it is. All I know is that Mary thinks it's sweet." The ten year old made a face at this, as if she was sure anything the boys got her that could be called sweet was bound to be horrid. John chuckled but then became serious. "Hey, Ceridwen, is everything alright? I mean, are you feeling okay?" he asked and she frowned, but nodded none the less.

"I'm fine. Never been better." The young girl threw a glance at her father, now suspecting him of sharing the fact that she'd had a panic attack in the night with his friend. She wasn't surprised, but she was embarrassed.

"Good. Just making sure. You know I'm here if you need anything." Ceridwen nodded wearily at this. "Right, I've gotta go. I promised I'd give Mary breakfast in bed."

"Bye."

"Bye." With that, Sherlock shut his laptop and got up from his chair. Walking over to the window to gaze out at the snowy street with his hands in his pockets, the detective spoke again, this time very sternly. "Why did you lie?"

"About what?"

"Don't give me that, young lady. Tell me why."

"Tell me why you never want to eat first." Ceridwen shot back and Sherlock's gaze instantly snapped away from the window to her. There was a touch of anger in his expression, but the girl remained unaffected.

"Not unless you tell me what you dream about." At this, he could have sworn he heard Ceridwen mutter 'damn' and he narrowed his eyes.

"I don't remember what I dream about."

"That's a lie." Sherlock growled. "Do not lie to me." She could see his anger and frustration growing steadily, but it didn't seem to register in her brain. "Tell me." he demanded.

"No." The moment, the word left her lips, she regretted it. The man took two large, frighteningly quick strides toward her and roughly grabbed her upper arms. She gasped in shock.

"Stop it! You can't keep trying to hide everything from me! It doesn't work! I know something is wrong! JUST TELL ME SO I CAN HELP YOU!" he yelled, shaking Ceridwen a little. She stared up at him with wide, watering eyes, her hands thrown up in a defensive position, and tried to pull away.

"D-Dad! You're hurting me!" she cried and realizing what he'd done, Sherlock immediately let go of the girl and backed away, guilt written all over his features.

"I'm...I'm so sorry, Ceridwen...I...I didn't mean to..." He struggled to express himself, feeling genuinely remorseful about what he'd just done and afraid that she wouldn't forgive him. Slowly, he reached out to her, but she stumbled backwards away from him before turning and bolting into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind herself. Sherlock approached the door and leaned against it. "Ceridwen, please forgive me."

"Go away!"

"You're being highly irrational. Come out and talk to me like a reasonable person." This received no response and after waiting a few minutes, when Sherlock was sure his daughter had had time to calm down, he spoke again. "Ceridwen?" No reply. What was he supposed to do? She was like a puzzle with no rules with which he was familiar and no solution in sight. What would Molly do? No answer came to him as he was sure that if his late wife was still around, this situation would never have come up in the first place. Still, he searched the depths of everything he knew about emotions and Ceridwen to try and solve this problem. It seemed he had to earn her trust. "I'm picking the lock." he told her after nearly two hours of thought. When he opened the bathroom door, he found her sitting on the floor, looking up at him apprehensively and hugging her knees. Sherlock knelt down before her and offered her his hand, which she only took after a few minutes of staring. He pulled her to her feet and she followed him out to the sofa silently. As they sat there, Ceridwen rested her head on Sherlock's shoulder and they said nothing, lost in thought.

* * *

_Sherlock Holmes sat at his desk, staring frustratedly at his computer. It had been nearly a year since the accident, but Lestrade was still refusing to give him cases. At this point he knew it had nothing to do with his injuries, as they had fully healed long ago. The detective inspector had told him it was because he needed to be there for Ceridwen, but he didn't understand that Sherlock wanted cases to get away from her, to distract him from her. It was like torture. Every time he looked at the five year old, he saw traces of Molly taunting him in her features and mannerisms, yet he knew he could not hate her simply for being a reminder of what he had lost. It wasn't her fault; she was an innocent child. Besides, Sherlock didn't think he could truly hate her for anything anyway. She was his daughter and thus he was biologically preconditioned to love her, as difficult a concept as that was for him._

_ It wouldn't have been quite so bad if it was just Lestrade refusing to give him cases, but it seemed that since news got out of what he had happened, not even prospective clients were calling for his aid. It was infuriating. He'd gotten emails from a few people saying that they were sorry for his loss and he should take some time off from work to take care of his daughter 'who must be having a hard time with the loss of her mother'. His responses to these people were generally short and tetchy, with the exception of the widowed mother who got a respectful but stern reply._

_ Worst of all, John agreed with everyone else. No one understood his problem, not even his best friend. Ceridwen, of course, being a small child, was blissfully ignorant of the turmoil in her father's mind, which seemed to compound the problem._

_ When the girl came down from her room and began playing the piano, something snapped in Sherlock's brain and he lost it._

_ "Get out of here! Get out of my sight! I never want to hear you play that __**thing **__again if indeed that can be called playing! Go be a mind numbing problem somewhere else for a change! Or is that too difficult of a command for your child mind to wrap itself around!? GO!" the man snarled at Ceridwen too quickly for her to fully understand and she became frozen in fear as she stared wide eyed at him in shock. Sherlock let out a growl of frustration and pulled her none too gently away from the piano to pushed her towards the door. She yelped and stumbled before scrambling away back up to her room. Sounds of things being thrown about could be heard from below and Ceridwen curled up under her bed sheets. It grew quiet after an hour and Sherlock finally came to his senses to see his flat a complete mess and his daughter nowhere in sight. Fearing that he'd harmed her, he began frantically rifling through the piles of papers and other random objects strewn across the floor to see if she had somehow been buried in the mess, but then he stopped himself, realizing this was completely silly. He would have sent her away before she could get hurt. "Ceridwen?" he called, he received no answer. He called her name again and this time his voice quivered ever so slightly from anxiety. Then Sherlock spied the girl hiding by the doorway, peering out at him fearfully. "Come here." He beckoned to her and she hesitantly approached him. He saw the frightened expression she was wearing and he realized it was directed at him. "You're afraid of me. Never be afraid of me, Ceridwen. I will never harm you." He opened his arms and she accepted his embrace wearily. "I'm sorry." he whispered to her, not wanting to ever let his daughter go, afraid he'd lose her._

* * *

Sherlock and Ceridwen Holmes spent most of Christmas and the day after touring Munich and carefully avoiding reporters. The natural history museum was closed, but Sherlock convinced the security guard to let them look around, much to his daughter's delight. On the plane ride back to London, Ceridwen fell asleep and the detective noticed that she was peaceful. Something had caused her restlessness to go away. It was quite a relief to him.

John Watson was there to greet them in the airport and he offered to carry Ceridwen's bag for her, commenting that she looked very tired. He went to 221B with them and once the ten year old was off in her room asleep, he sat down in his old armchair and grew very serious.

"How is she?" he asked.

"Much better. She stopped having nightmares."

"Good. I told Mary about it and she'll be glad to hear everything is fine. She was very worried."

"Ah, and what of Dean?"

"I haven't told him a thing. I don't think he'd understand if I did. He'd probably start believing Ceridwen's dying or possessed or something." Sherlock chuckled at this. His friend's son did always have a vivid imagination. Suddenly, the detective's phone made its text alert noise. Frowning, he took out his phone to read _Come to the estate for New Years. Mummy wants to see all her grandchildren. -MH_. He groaned and rolled his eyes. The fact that Mycroft had chosen to notify him via text meant this was not up for discussion. "Mycroft?" John asked with a smirk. Nearly sixteen years of knowing this man had definitely rubbed off on him if he could tell who had texted Sherlock by the face he made.

"Yes. It seems there is to be a family dinner on New Years by decree of my mother." Nearly sixteen years of Sherlock had also taught the doctor that this was a less than heartwarming thing.

"Ah, a shame Greg's on holiday, otherwise I'd tell you to phone him and bother him for a case to get you out of it." John had had the pleasure of meeting Dame Holmes once and quickly discovered why she was able to keep both of her sons in line. While she gave the impression of being a sweet little old lady, under the table, she ruled the Holmes family with an iron fist. She was the sort to threaten her sons by smiling.

"A shame indeed."

**A/N: It's always nice to leave off on a slightly humorous note, no? The next chapter will focus on the Holmes family and you'll get to meet Leland and Sefton, Ceridwen's cousins, as well as a new issue. Oh, and you'll finally find out what Dean and Weston's gift is. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. All input is appreciated. Thanks for reading! ~T.Z.**


	11. Expectations

**A/N: Hey there! Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews! I really never expected so many people to read, let alone review this fic! I'm quite humbled. Please enjoy this chapter.**

**WARNING: If the fluffiness of the flashback where Molly tells Ceridwen about the knight and the healer nearly made you faint, you definitely won't be able to handle this chapter's flashback. You may need a defibrillator before proceeding.**

Chapter 11: Expectations

Mortified wasn't quite the right word for how Ceridwen Holmes felt when she accepted Dean Watson and Weston Lestrade's Christmas gift to her and opened in front of everyone. Despite the cozy, fire lit atmosphere of the Watsons' modestly sized sitting room, the raven haired ten year old felt intensely uncomfortable with everyone's eyes on her as she unwrapped the shiny red paper of the present and lifted the lid of the small box to take out a silver link charm bracelet. Her pale cheeks turned a rosy pink when she examined the links with symbols on them. There were a skull and crossbones, piano keys, a book, a magnifying glass, the letters CJH, and the cause of the majority of her discomfort: a little heart. For a moment, she stared at the red shape with a mixture of confusion and embarrassment, but then her striking blue eyes shot over to the two boys who had given her the object, silently scrutinizing them. The adults in the room (minus Sherlock) were beaming at the thing, admiring the thoughtfulness of their sons. Sherlock looked at the bracelet with an expression of mild boredom and slight disgust at the blatant sentimentality of the thing. He noticed how uncomfortable all this was making Ceridwen, but instead of doing something about it, he just continued to watch, curious as to how she would handle the situation.

"D-Do you like it?" Weston stammered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"If you're going to include biology on my list of interests, at least make sure the heart you use to represent it is anatomically correct. The hearts I dissect from my specimens aren't shaped like the hearts people put on Valentine's Day cards." the thin girl replied flatly and Sherlock grinned. That was his daughter and in that moment he was oh so proud of her. However, no one else seemed quite so pleased as she placed the bracelet back in its box and disappeared into the kitchen. Dean and Weston appeared completely dejected and their parents were giving them looks of sympathy.

"Don't let that get you down, boys. She's a Holmes. You learn to expect that sort of thing." Greg said, earning him a glare from Sherlock. Mary came to stand beside Dean and put her arm around his shoulders comfortingly.

"Yeah, and I'm sure she actually really likes your gift. She's probably just embarrassed and doesn't want us to think she likes it." the woman assured them and noise came from Sherlock that was somewhere between a laugh and a 'pft'. Mary shot him a glare at this. "_I_ think it's a rather sweet thing to give her."

"Oh, please." the detective sneered.

"Sherlock." John warned, but the dark haired man was only starting.

"Do you honestly believe such a reaction indicates that? As Greg was so kind to point out, Ceridwen is a Holmes, and thus a creature of logic. To give her an object of total sentiment, devoid of practicality, is unwise and off putting."

"Sherlock! She's not you! In case you forgot, Ceridwen had a mother and I hope to God she got some of that woman's kindness and tact, because she definitely didn't get any from you." John snapped and the smirk was wiped from his best friend's face. The doctor realized too late that he'd hit a nerve. He'd already spoken and now Sherlock looked like he wanted to kick him, but wouldn't because he knew that it really wouldn't achieve anything. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. That was out of line."

"Never the less, nothing you said was completely untrue." the consulting detective replied coldly before grabbing his coat and scarf from its hook by the door. "Ceridwen, we're leaving." he called and the girl reappeared from the kitchen and put on her coat. It didn't take a genius to notice that she was wearing the bracelet. Both boys grinned at her as they watched her follow Sherlock out the door.

* * *

_It didn't seem like it was very often these days that both Molly Holmes and Mary Watson found themselves with free time on the same day. When it happened, they didn't waste any time in planning a little get together. On this particular occasion, Sherlock and John were off on a case and so Molly took a one and a half year old Ceridwen with her to the Watsons' flat to meet their son for the first time._

_ "Dean, this is Ceridwen. She's Molly's daughter." Mary told her three year old boy as he squirmed in her grasp. His big, dark blue orbs fell on this new child, who from below her shock of black curls was looking at him with curious and imposing, yet very shy silver-blue eyes. He was not in any way deterred by her unusual appearance and he smiled at her welcomingly._

_ "Hi!" he said enthusiastically before proceeding to struggle with the pronunciation of her name._

_ "Why don't you just call her CJ, dear?" Molly suggested._

_ "Hi, CJ!" Dean managed to wriggle free from his mother and crawl across the squashy sofa to Molly's lap where Ceridwen sat. The little girl looked for all the world like she hadn't the slightest idea what to do. This was the first person she'd met who was close to her age._

_ "Go on, say hello."_

_ "H-Hello, Dean." It was barely a whisper, but it could be heard. The little boy reached out to Ceridwen and she cringed away nervously, afraid of being touched by someone she didn't know and who was bigger than her. Dean was persistent and managed to rest his tiny hand on her thin arm._

_ "Play?" he asked cheerfully. She didn't know how to react, but the warmth of his hand was pleasant and not at all frightening, so she decided she liked him. "Play?" he asked again and she looked up at her mother as if for advice. The woman laughed and gently ruffled the girl's hair._

_ "Why don't you show Dean how to build a block castle?" She set Ceridwen down on the floor and the boy hopped down off the sofa after her. Ceridwen started to toddle over to the box of blocks in the corner of the sitting room, but not being very steady on her feet, the poor girl fell over halfway there. She didn't cry, she just kept trying to get back up, though she was having trouble due to her position and weak limbs. Dean quickly came over and helped her up, holding her hand the rest of the way to the box._

_ "This has to be the most adorable thing I've ever seen. Quick! Get a picture!" Molly said excitedly and Mary whipped out her phone to take a photo of the children, grinning as she sent it to Molly's phone._

_ "I'm maritally required to show this to John." Five seconds later, somewhere in Cardiff, a certain ex-military doctor looked at his phone to see a picture of Dean and Ceridwen holding hands underneath a text that read 'Look what just happened. Too cute. -Mary' and laughed before showing it to his best friend who merely quirked an eyebrow at it in passing interest._

_ Now with a plethora of wooden blocks at her disposal, Ceridwen was arranging them into a 3D castle shape while Dean watched in amazement. If he could have articulated it, he would have said something to the effect of 'those are some crazy block skills, man'. Molly took a photo of this too and promptly sent it off to her husband, who she was sure would be able to appreciate it. She was right as the detective was soon smirking at his phone pridefully while his friend made a comment about Ceridwen definitely being the man's daughter to which he replied that Dean was definitely the doctor's son, earning him a scowl of 'I see what you're saying and it's not funny'._

_ Once Ceridwen was done with her little masterpiece, she tore it down and looked up at a shocked Dean with an inviting smile._

_ "You try." she murmured and the boy began to attempt to replicate what he'd seen her do, but he couldn't remember perfectly and so he was having difficulty. Ceridwen decided to be helpful and point out where certain blocks should go. Eventually, Dean had basically the same structure built, though the blocks weren't nearly quite so perfect in alignment as before. "Good try." Ceridwen said encouragingly._

_ "Molly, your daughter is giving me a cavity." Mary commented with a giggle._

_ "Friend." Dean said, coming closer to the other toddler. For a moment, Ceridwen looked confused, but then he was hugging her and she seemed to understand on some level._

_ "Oh my goodness, they're going to be best friends for life. I can tell already."_

_ "As mothers, we are obligated to document this. They will be so embarrassed when we show these to people years from now." Mary reasoned as she took her phone out once again._

_ "Of course." Both women proceeded to take pictures of the hugging toddlers._

* * *

It had been a while since Ceridwen was last at the Holmes Estate, but it was just as grand as she remembered it, right down to the impeccable hedges. She and Sherlock got there in one of Mycroft's black cars right behind another one which contained the man himself and his children. Upon arrival, they all gathered in the high ceilinged entrance hall of the Victorian mansion where Dame Velda Holmes (a.k.a Grandmummy) waited to greet them.

"I apologize for Lilian's absence, mummy. She has a rather pressing issue to attend to." Mycroft spoke and the old woman smiled.

"Not to worry, dear. Quite understandable." she replied warmly. Ceridwen's aunt was a spy for the British Government and was frequently unavailable. Mycroft had once told her this was because his wife was very good at her job. "Attending Oxford next year, Leland? Excellent. You'll go far." The silver haired woman had moved down the line now to her eldest grandchild, who Ceridwen had always believed to be the woman's favorite. She shot a quick glare at the seventeen year old girl with whom she had a similar relationship to that of their fathers. "A prefect this year at Eton, Sefton? How's that treating you?"

"Well." the teenaged boy answered simply. Ceridwen got on better with him, but mostly because she knew she could beat him at chess and he liked to illustrate her stories with his excellent sketches.

"Sherlock, dear, it's lovely to see you. Skipping meals again I see. How was your trip to Germany?" Grandmummy hadn't been told about any of the things she was asking about. She had deduced each of them. It was expected.

"Another case solved. Ceridwen was very helpful." Sherlock responded tersely.

"Good." The woman finally came to stand in front of Ceridwen and took the girl's small hand in both of her wrinkled ones. "It's been a trying past couple of months for you, hasn't it." It wasn't a question. "If your health is ever at risk, this family is willing and very able to provide you with whatever you need to become healthy again, even if you do not want it. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you." Ceridwen replied with a nod which earned her a warm smile. Done greeting everyone, Dame Holmes headed off towards the dining hall and the others followed wordlessly. They knew dinner wasn't going to be fancy as it was only New Years Eve, but they were surprised to find a modest feast awaiting them. Taking a seat at the large table, they all served themselves some of everything that looked appealing, even Sherlock, and Ceridwen noticed. "You're eating." she commented, beaming at her father. He smirked at her in return before forking a piece of potato into his mouth. After that, the detective saw her stop nibbling at and poking her food. She actually looked like she was interested in it now and it pleased him.

When the meal was over, Leland, Sefton, and Ceridwen were excused to go to their rooms while Mycroft and Sherlock were required to remain seated. Once Mummy was sure the grandchildren were out of earshot, she turned to her younger son.

"So, when are you planning to enroll Ceridwen at Wycombe Abbey?" she asked in a pleasant tone, though she was very serious. "She'll be old enough to begin there next school year." Sherlock knew from the look on his mother's face that she was perfectly aware of his attitude towards this subject, but she was pressing it on him threateningly. He did not hesitate in his response.

"She will not be attending Wycombe Abbey, mummy." he told the woman sternly. Her expression did not falter, but Mycroft frowned and rolled his eyes as if to say 'Why must you be so difficult, brother?'

"Don't be silly, of course she will. I'll enroll her myself if need be." Though the woman's expression was still cheerful, the threat in her words was quite clear. However, Sherlock did not give in.

"She will not go to Wycombe Abbey." He spoke more forcefully this time and Mycroft decided he'd try his hand at convincing his brother.

"Why not? The women of the Holmes family have studied at the school for generations. It is tradition. I sent Leland there and I see no reason why Ceridwen shouldn't follow in her footsteps." the elder man put forth. Sherlock glared at him coldly.

"I'm not going to raise her like you've been raising your daughter." At this, Mycroft grimaced.

"Stop being childish, brother. We're talking about the quality of Ceridwen's education. Do you really want her to keep going to that local school with all those...ruffians?" This seemed to hit a nerve with the raven haired man because a muscle twitched in his face. He did not appreciate his brother's classist comment.

"Yes, and a couple of those 'ruffians' are boys she's known and trusted her entire life." he rebutted angrily. "I apologize if my refusal of tradition offends you, but I will _not_ send away my daughter."

"I see, Sherlock. You are uneasy about entrusting her care to an institution full of people neither you nor she know. That's quite understandable, but I must insist you consent." Dame Holmes spoke up, reaching out to put her hand on top of her son's. He knew what she was doing and he wanted to pull away or look away, but to do so would be very rude and though he might disagree with the woman, he was not a disrespectful son.

"I'm afraid you don't understand, mummy. Ceridwen must remain with me at Baker Street."

"To be cared for by your landlady while you solve crimes and neglect her. Hardly the better option, I think." Mycroft sneered. "And from all reports, having two people she knows well with her at school has hardly stopped her from being bullied and abused by the rest of the students." At this, Sherlock would very much have liked to jump across the table and punch Mycroft square in the face, but he maintained a composed, albeit irritated expression and did nothing to act on this wish.

"I seem to recall quite vividly that public school students can be just as cruel." the detective hissed back and Mycroft's frown deepened.

"Boys, enough. Let this debate be settled by Ceridwen." Dame Holmes commanded. Sherlock knew his mother was going to try to persuade Ceridwen to go to Wycombe Abbey, but he wasn't having it. There was a long list of reasons why his daughter should stay at home. However, Mycroft's neglect comment hit a sore spot as the girl herself had already expressed something similar. Of course, the events that followed had led Ceridwen to become very clingy and he wasn't about to keep the same practices toward her as before. He had a shot at doing something right by her. His mother and brother trying to take that away from him was infuriating.

"May I be excused?" Sherlock asked and his mother nodded in consent. The man shot up from his chair and left the dining hall without another word.

* * *

On New Years morning, Ceridwen found herself sitting in the beautiful common room with her cousins. The atmosphere was uncomfortable and no one spoke, though the ten year old played softly at the piano, thinking. Sefton was reading, but Leland seemed to be itching to talk to her little cousin, if only to demonstrate her superiority (like her father, she had a bit of a power complex). She found her opening when she spotted the bracelet on Ceridwen's wrist.

"What sentimental rubbish is that?" she asked, pointed at the thing. Ceridwen stopped playing and turned to Leland, her eyes icy. She had forgotten to take the bracelet off when she arrived at the estate and now she would pay for her error.

"What does it matter to you?"

"Ooh, a boy gave that to you, didn't he? You wouldn't get one for yourself, so someone must have given it to you. You're wearing it, so it must be someone you like. You clearly don't have any female friends, so a boy then. Given the nature of the item and the little heart on one of the links, I'd say he's got a crush on you. You're being defensive, so the feeling is clearly mutual. How sickly sweet." the teenager fired off with a smirk. Her attempt to embarrass Ceridwen was working as the raven haired girl's cheeks turned pink.

"Very close, but no. This was a gift from both of my friends and while, yes, they are males, I harbor no romantic affections toward either of them." she replied levelly, turning Leland's smirk to a frown. However, she would not give in to defeat so easily.

"Then why wear it? It's far too frivolous for you."

"Because, dear cousin, I did not wish to offend them by appearing to dislike a gift they clearly put a great deal of effort into composing. I have simply neglected to take it off since receiving it." She omitting the part about initially offending them and how she had realized she should put the bracelet on because of it. Now she took it off and placed it in her trouser pocket. "There. Thank you for reminding me." With this, Ceridwen promptly turned away from her elder cousin and began to play the piano again, more loudly this time to make it clear that their conversation was over. The teenager rolled her eyes and sauntered over to the window seat on the other side of the room.

**A/N: There you have it. All I have to say about Leland is that you shouldn't be too quick to judge her harshly. She has a specific reason that she treats Ceridwen the way she does. For those of you who don't know, Wycombe Abbey is like Eton for girls. The next chapter will have more about Weston, in case you're curious. Also Holmes drama is about to get a bit heavier. I hope you liked this chapter. If you are at all inclined to review, please do so. It's really helpful. Thanks as always! ~T.Z.**


	12. Holmes Family Values

**A/N: Hiya! Sorry it took so long for me to update. Life for me has been...stressful...as of late. I told myself I'd have a new chapter up by my birthday and it seems that I have just barely managed to meet my goal. Yay for actually doing something right for once! Thank you all for the absolutely lovely reviews! They really kept me motivated when everything else seemed to be falling to pieces. Please enjoy!**

**WARNING: This chapter contains children swearing.**

Chapter 12: Holmes Family Values

Sefton Holmes looked up from his book not long after his sister left the common room to find something to do and observed Ceridwen quietly for a few minutes before speaking up.

"Don't pay her any mind. She's been snippy about my friends too, lately. She's got some sort of bone to pick, but quite frankly, I can't be bothered to figure her issue out. It's probably something juvenile and not worth my time." the sixteen year old said in a relaxed tone before stretching his arms. Ceridwen stopped her piano playing to look at her cousin with a wry smile. They both knew it would be easy for him to figure out what Leland's problem was, but Sefton, unlike his notoriously nosey father, had the ability to not give a shit in the slightest about other people's problems. In fact, he was a generally laid back sort of person and he was choosey about what he deemed worth his time. Sometimes, since Sefton had a few personality traits far more concurrent with Sherlock's personality than Mycroft's, Ceridwen thought that the boy was supposed to have been her brother, not her cousin. However, like his father, Sefton hated legwork of any sort and had a big sweet tooth. When she was smaller, Ceridwen used to bribe him with candy to carry her on his shoulders. Those days were long gone, though, and now with the two sitting peacefully on opposite ends of the room, it became clear that Ceridwen had lost a great deal of her innocence too soon and the weight of responsibility had forced Sefton to mature beyond his years.

"Undoubtedly. Would you like to play a game of chess?" At this, the teen's relaxed expression became a glare.

"No." he replied loudly and the girl grinned. These days, Sefton rarely accepted an offer from Ceridwen to play chess because he knew the chances of him winning were small and it was embarrassing to constantly lose to someone six years his junior. He outwardly pretended that he didn't care, but they both knew he did, so she teased him about it. However, being unusually considerate (for a Holmes) as she was, only did so when no one else was around.

"A shame. I was hoping to see what new strategies you might employ against me, if any." The main reason Sefton wasn't very good at chess in comparison to Ceridwen was that he simply did not have the same passion for it as she did. He was about to voice a witty reply to his little cousin's subtle jab, but then Grandmummy entered the room and spoke.

"Ceridwen, dear, would you mind coming with me? I have something I wish to discuss with you privately." she said with a smile. The ten year old nodded silently and followed the old woman out. They walked through the grand halls of the manor in silence for some time until they came to Mycroft's study. Dame Holmes gestured for the raven haired girl to sit in the large, squashy armchair opposite her and she obeyed. Ceridwen hadn't the slightest clue what any of this was about except that it was important. Why else would Grandmummy go out of her way to speak to her alone like this. Despite being old, she had asked her to sit in the most comfortable chair in the room. The woman must have wanted her to be relaxed and...agreeable. At this thought, Ceridwen eyed her grandmother wearily. She clearly was aiming to discuss something that her father didn't like, something she wanted her to be convinced of. "Tell me, do you like the school you currently attend?"

"It's fine with the exception of the majority of the student population being made up of bullies."

"Ah, I see. Would you like to go somewhere different? A place of high educational quality where you'll be amongst girls like you?"

"Well, I would certainly consider it if it was an option." The woman smiled at Ceridwen again. It was nice to know that Grandmummy wanted the best for her and that she hadn't been forgotten in Leland's shadow.

"Generations of Holmes women have gone to Wycombe Abbey, including, as you know, Leland. It would be a shame if that tradition were to be broken. Of course, the choice is entirely yours." Mention of Leland caused Ceridwen's eyes to narrow. She hated being outdone by her cousin. However, going to Wycombe Abbey would mean leaving behind her father and her friends for most of the year.

"I...don't know. May I have some time to think it over?" Ceridwen replied softly and Dame Holmes patted her hand warmly.

"Of course. I trust you'll have an answer for me at dinner tonight." At this, the girl nodded fervently. She knew Grandmummy hated waffling and had a habit of giving people deadlines on decisions to prevent it. "There's a good girl." The old woman stood up and opened her arms. "Come. Give your grandmummy a hug before you get back to your music." Ceridwen let Dame Holmes embrace her, feeling comfort in her grandmother's warmth. "Oh my, you're rather cold. I'll have some tea sent to the common room. It'll warm you up."

"Thank you, ma'am. That's very kind of you." the girl said as she finally stepped away. The old woman laughed and patted Ceridwen on the shoulder.

"What kind of grandmother would I be if I didn't look after my grandchildren?" With that, Grandmummy gently nudged Ceridwen towards the door with a smile and the girl went off to return to the piano.

* * *

_It was only a little more than two years after Ceridwen had lost her mother and the seven year old found herself sitting on one of the benches on the playground alone. Dean was sick and Weston was playing with the other boys. It seemed like she was always alone these days. Her father had thrown himself into his work and rarely interacted with her anymore. The other children at school had learned to dislike her and never wanted to play with her. The only people she spoke to regularly were Dean and Mrs. Hudson, both of whom seemed to do nothing but pity her._

_ Ceridwen swung her sickly legs back and forth, grazing the snow with her boots. Noticing the slashes in the white this made, she began to spell out her name in the snow. Suddenly, a pair of feet appeared and stomped out the word. She gasped and looked up to see five girls standing in front of her._

_ "We want to sit here. Move." the one who had stamped out Ceridwen's name demanded._

_ "I don't have to move if I don't want to, Teagan. I'm sure you can find somewhere else to sit." the raven haired girl answered calmly._

_ "Move, freak!" Two of the girls grabbed Ceridwen by the arms and threw her into the snow, face first. The sting and the shock of the cold caused her eyes to water so that when she got up, it looked like she was crying. "Aw, gonna go cry to your mummy? Oh wait, you don't have one!" The five other girls snickered at this and suddenly, Ceridwen's tears became real and spilled out of her eyes. The more she heard the other girls' laughter, the more her hurt and anger grew until finally her small hands curled into fists and she leapt at Teagan, knocking her off the bench into the snow. As they tussled on the ground, Ceridwen shrieked at her opponent while tears flowed profusely down her cheeks._

_ "You don't understand what it's like, you stupid bitch! It's not funny! It hurts and your stupid brain can't even begin to understand! If you're not going to be nice, LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE! DO YOU HEAR ME! LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE! GO FIND SOMEWHERE ELSE TO SIT YOUR FUCKING STUPID ARSE! JUST LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!" the raven haired girl screamed, though her words were barely understandable due to their pitch and the fact that she was getting pummeled by Teagan. The other girls stood and stared in shock, never having heard Ceridwen shout, let alone swear. The brunette girl was shouting back mostly incoherent curses, but one might have made out a few things about not calling her stupid and not punching her. Ceridwen quickly found that she was far too weak to defend herself and stopped resisting, letting Teagan hit her over and over, just waiting for the pain to stop coming. Then suddenly, Teagan was pulled off of her roughly and Ceridwen looked over after a long moment to see Weston Lestrade chasing the girls away. She rolled over onto her hands and knees and the white of the ground was spattered with bright red as she spat blood onto the snow._

_ "Are you alright?" she heard Weston ask. She wanted to snap at him and say that she obviously wasn't alright and break down crying, but she didn't. In fact, her only response was to stare up at him with a sad expression. He helped her to her feet and he could feel her trembling. "What happened?"_

_ "Teagan told me to get off the bench. I didn't want to. Her friends pushed me off and she made fun of me for not having a mum. I just...I just..." Ceridwen tried to explain, but she started having great difficultly expressing herself._

_ "It's okay. I get it. Teagan was really mean and she should pay. Come on, let's go tell a teacher." Weston consoled and the girl nodded, surprised that someone was on her side. She'd never been very close to Weston, but now she felt a bud of fondness for him growing inside her as they sat in the headmaster's office. He told the headmaster what had happened because Ceridwen didn't want to talk. She felt that if she spoke more than a couple of words, she would start crying or pass out or something._

_ Later, when Mrs. Hudson brought her home to 221B Baker Street, she sat on the sofa and sobbed uncontrollably into the old woman's shoulder, wailing about how much she missed her mum._

* * *

New Years Dinner at the Holmes Estate was a formal affair. They all wore their best, although this wasn't much different than what they normally wore. The most notable changes were that Ceridwen had swapped her big green jumper for a dark blue jacket as well as her converse for mary janes and Mycroft was wearing an even more expensive tie. Sherlock still refused to wear anything around his collar and left the first two buttons of his shirt undone.

Most of the meal was spent in silence until Dame Holmes spoke up.

"Ceridwen, dear, have you an answer to the question I posed you earlier?" she asked and Sherlock's eyes snapped up from his pudding to glare at his mother. He immediately knew exactly what this was about without being told.

"Yes, ma'am. I've decided I'd rather not go to Wycombe Abbey. I want to stay home." Sherlock breathed a mental sigh of relief at this and smirked triumphantly at his brother.

"Are you sure?" Mycroft asked.

"Of course she's sure and even if she wasn't, I still wouldn't let her go." Sherlock snapped.

"Brother, I thought we agreed that this would be her decision and her decision alone."

"I agreed to no such thing as you would have noticed had you been listening to me when we previously discussed this."

"Hold on, how come Ceridwen doesn't want to go?" Leland piped up, looking disappointed, but no one seemed to be paying attention to her. Sefton was leaning back in his chair wearing an expression of indifference while listening to the storm brewing before him and forming his own opinions on the matter at hand, but choosing not to get involved. "Excuse me, but if Ceridwen doesn't want to go, that's her choice and we shouldn't be so quick to question it." Leland spoke again, this time more loudly, after getting fed up of listening to the two men argue and everyone paused to look at her in surprise.

"Thank you, Leland." Grandmummy said, giving the teenager a smile. "Ceridwen will not attend Wycombe Abbey if she does not wish to. The matter is settled." At this, Sherlock grinned and said nothing more. He had won this battle. Mycroft was glaring at Leland, not having expected such behavior from his daughter.

Later, when dinner was over, the Ceridwen caught up with her elder cousin in the corridor.

"Why did you stick up for me?" she demanded and Leland laughed.

"As much as I think you'd do well at Wycombe, you should be allowed to make your own choices. And besides, staying home might be better for you in the end." the teenager explained, ruffling Ceridwen's black curls affectionately. She knew there were many reasons Leland had for this view that she wasn't mentioning, but the girl didn't press her to reveal them.

* * *

_After Ceridwen had finished crying, Mrs. Hudson had phoned Sherlock. He told her to bring her to Scotland Yard so that Lestrade's sons could take care of her until he got there. As a result, Ceridwen found herself sitting between Neil and Weston in DI Lestrade's office. They were always there after school until their mother picked them up in the evening._

_ "I never said thank you for helping me." the girl spoke up, looking to Weston. Her eyes were still a little puffy._

_ "You don't have to. You're my friend." the boy replied, his cheeks tinting pink. A moment later, the inspector came in and looked at the three children with a heavy sigh._

_ "Dad, show Ceridwen that video of Mr. Holmes from a long time ago. The really funny one." Neil said with a grin and an identical one spread across his father's face._

_ "Alright. Come here, Ceridwen." the silver haired man gestured for her to come closer as he sat in his desk chair. He pulled out is phone and angled it so that the girl could see before pressing play. The watched as younger Sherlock Holmes stumbled around shouting things like a drunk. Ceridwen found herself laughing heartily. She'd never seen her father act so silly. "This was when your dad was on a case for your uncle and got drugged by this woman called Irene Adler. I simply had to take a video of it."_

_ "Take a video of what?" They all looked over to see present day Sherlock standing in the doorway. Ceridwen failed to cease her giggling and the man frowned._

_ "Oh, nothing." Lestrade said with a bad poker face._

_ "My daughter was sobbing an hour ago. Now she can't stop laughing. It's clearly not nothing." After a long moment of Greg not being able to bring himself to confess, a look of realization dawned on Sherlock's face. "It was the one of me from the Adler case, wasn't it?" The detective became annoyed outwardly, but silently, he thought of leaving Ceridwen in the Lestrades' care more often. When the girl finally stopped laughing, he took her aside in the hallway and knelt down to her level. "I got a call from the headmaster not long ago. He told me what happened to you at school today." Ceridwen gazed intently at her feet. "Look at me, Ceridwen." She tentatively met his gaze. "You can't let others get to you like that. You have to shut that out in the way that I showed you. If they attack you physically, you have to keep thinking clearly and know when it is unwise to fight back." She nodded in understanding and he took off his leather gloves before gently examining her head._

_ "The school nurse already had a look at me. Why do you need to?"_

_ "Can you vouch for the nurse's competence?" Sherlock asked, quirking an eyebrow._

_ "No. I don't have sufficient medical knowledge."_

_ "Then don't question me." After finishing his examination, he put his gloves back on and stood up. "I won't have this case finished for a few more hours. Would you like to stay here in the meantime?"_

_ "Yes, of course."_

* * *

Getting back to school felt strange at first. The story of Ceridwen Holmes' kidnapping had been out long enough that every other student treated her with even greater discretion than before. The teachers seemed to be much more lenient about her deductions of others as well.

"Did you seriously catch up on all that work you missed in only a few days?" Dean asked her during their lunch break, shaking her from her deep thoughts.

"Yes, why? Is that surprising?" The boy shrugged and sat down next to her at the table she had chosen in the school cafeteria. "May I have your apple?"

"Didn't you already eat?"

"All I've had is a small sandwich. I'm hungrier than I used to be." With a smile and no further questions, Dean handed Ceridwen his apple. "I take it Weston will be late to lunch."

"How did you know?"

"The foods on your tray that you both like are in double helpings. You wanted to make sure to get some food for him because you knew that since he was going to be late, all his favorite things might be gone by the time he arrives." the pale girl replied with a smirk that Dean returned.

"I swear you will never stop amazing me."

"It's not that amazing. You've got two forks. Makes it all a bit obvious, don't you think?"

"You will never stop making everyone else look stupid as well." the sandy blond laughed.

"It's not my fault the majority of the population is made up of bumbling idiots." Ceridwen replied with a frown. Dean laughed again and scarfed down his meal while the girl munched on her apple and read a book on early nineteenth century pirates.

"Oi! Dean! You get me anything?" A familiar black haired boy suddenly appeared several minutes later looking annoyed and out of breath.

"'course, mate." Dean answered, sliding his tray and a fork across the white table to Weston, who immediately started eating.

"I see you've had to clean up another glue disaster." Ceridwen commented after only glancing up from her book briefly.

"Shut up." Weston snapped and Dean chuckled, earning him a brotherly glare. The girl among them felt grateful that things had finally gone back to normal.

**A/N: ...and so ends Part 1 of this fic. The next chapter will take a time skip to Ceridwen as a teenager. I hope I made you all curious about Leland. There is a lot more to her than you see at first glance. What do you think of Sefton? While I was writing this chapter, I had the strangest feeling that everyone will fall in love with him by the end of this fic. Don't hesitate to tell me if you start shipping my characters. Oh, and in case you didn't notice, there is a WIP section on my profile that I try to update regularly with what's happening currently in my writing process for each of my WIPs. Please review! Each and every review is very valuable to me. Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers! ~T.Z.**


	13. Let It Go

**A/N: Hello there! Thank you all for the excellent and encouraging reviews. I really hope this chapter fulfills the excitement many of you expressed regarding the time skip. Unfortunately, this new arc will probably punch you straight in the feels, so I apologize in advance. Anyway, please enjoy and let me know what you think!**

**WARNING: This chapter includes heavy mention of death and implied self-harm/attempted suicide.**

Chapter 13: Let It Go

It was a late summer afternoon and the tube was packed with people, but one person amongst the dozens stood out. She was a pale, thin teenager with jet black curls and striking silver-blue eyes, but her natural appearance wasn't the only thing different about her. She was wearing slightly worn, knee-high combat boots with a rather dressy, slightly pricy, black pencil skirt and purple blouse. A stranger wouldn't have thought at a glance that she was friends with three of the four other young people around her, though the oldest one had spiked black hair and dressed in punk style. She was Ceridwen Holmes, daughter to the world's only consulting detective, and at the moment, taking the tube to Scotland Yard with her friends and someone she hated who also happened to be going there.

"Hold on a mo'. There's a snack machine nearby." Neil Lestrade said to her once they'd gotten off at their stop. She rolled her eyes and watched as he, his brother, and Dean Watson went off around the corner to this machine, leaving Ceridwen to wait with Annie Anderson who was busy texting someone.

"Why are you waiting?" the dark haired teen asked, but Annie ignored her and suddenly something clicked in her mind. "You really should stop trying to get his attention. He doesn't like you."

"How do you figure, freak?" the other girl snapped, abruptly looking up from her phone.

"His pupils contract when you talk to him and he definitely likes me better."

"So, what, you think he finds you more attractive than me? For one, I'm not a pasty, flat chested bean pole with creepy eyes." Annie sneered. "I also don't have mental issues."

"I would not be so sure of that." Ceridwen replied through gritted teeth. The auburn haired teen pocketed her phone and turned to face the other girl.

"You wanna fight, bitch?"

"Annie, you really don't want to fight me."

"Ha! Really? That tactic stopped working on me eight years ago. I know you're weaker than a newborn kitten." When Ceridwen scoffed, Annie made to hit her, but the taller girl stepped to the side calmly and judo flipped her opponent. A glance to the left told her that the others had returned in time to see this.

"Let's go. It wreaks of stupid bitch in this area." Ceridwen said as she walked past the boys who were all gaping at her while Annie lay on the ground, groaning in pain.

"Did you know she could do that? I didn't know she could do that." Dean managed to say.

"That was sexy." Weston commented, sounding a little out of it. At his brother's words, Neil burst into laughter. A moment later, Annie got to her feet and walked away, looking bruised and angry. The boys soon caught up with Ceridwen and almost the second they arrived at Scotland Yard, they were greeted by Chief Inspector Lestrade.

"Neil, will you please step into my office for a moment. There's something I need to talk to you about." It was more of a command than a request and the inspector seemed rather put out about something. Neil gave Ceridwen a 'this is your fault' look before following his father.

"What's that about?" Dean asked, frowning.

"It seems Neil is getting the wrap for hacking Scotland Yard's files for me again." Ceridwen explained. In recent years, Neil Lestrade had become a superb hacker and could get in practically anywhere as long as he put his mind to it. He occasionally did favors for the young Holmes, who was shaping up to be quite the detective when her father called for her aid. "Somehow, it's all my fault."

"Well, you _are_ the one who asked him to do it."

"It's not my fault he got himself caught. Oh, hello, Dad." The three had rounded a corner to see Sherlock Holmes leaning against the wall, reading a file. "What's today's case?"

"Man set his wife on fire." the consulting detective replied simply.

"Ooh, can I have a look?" The man was about to reply, when a female voice called down the hallway.

"Oi! Little Freak! What's this about you assaulting my daughter?" They all looked over to see DI Sally Anderson's head poking out of the doorway of her office. Annie appeared, leaning against the frame.

"It wasn't assault. It was self defense." Ceridwen called back and Sally turned to glare at her daughter. Sherlock smirked and let out a chuckle.

"A judo flip, I see. What did she do?" he asked, sounding amused.

"She called me a pasty, flat chested bean pole with creepy eyes. Oh, and a nutter." Dean and Weston's eyes went wide at this. "Then she tried to start a fight with me, but I went easy on her and ended it swiftly."

"You seem to have left quite the impression on Misters Watson and Lestrade."

"Hm, yes. Do close your mouths, boys. It's rather unflattering to leave them open like that." It took the two a moment to process her words.

"S-Sorry..." Dean managed to say before closing his mouth. Weston didn't seem to be able to find words, but he still succeeded in shutting his mouth. "Er, where's my dad?" the blond asked after composing himself.

"He should be here momentarily." the consulting detective replied casually. Then his phone made it's text alert noise and he frowned when he read the message. "Dean, you need to come with me." Sherlock ordered, his voice as serious as the grave. The teenage boy's eyes widened at this.

"What? Why? What's going on? What's happened?" Sherlock answered none of these questions and began to walk away at a very brisk pace. Dean hurried after him, quickly followed by Ceridwen and Weston. They were soon in a cab. Where to, the teens did not know until they arrived at St. Bart's. The blond had a sinking feeling in his stomach and his anxiety was quite visible, particularly to the two Holmeses present. Sherlock led them through the white halls of the hospital until they came to a room. He knocked on the door and a voice told him to come in. Inside, they were greeted with the sight of Mary Watson lying in the bed and John sitting beside her, holding her hand. "Mum?" Dean sounded like a small child as he spoke, coming forward to stand on the other side of his mother's bed. The woman looked up at him with a sad smile. "W-What's happened?"

"I've got cancer." she replied slowly, as if she was trying to convince herself of her own words. The whole room went still and Ceridwen could see something break inside her friend. "They caught it too late. They say I've got a year at most."

Weston appeared to be in shock. This was not what he'd expected when he had decided to go with his friends. Mary Watson was like another mother to him. The corner's of Dean's eyes were beginning to glisten as he sat down in a nearby overstuffed armchair. _He get's plenty of time to say goodbye._ Ceridwen thought, her expression blank. She wasn't letting herself feel grief or anger or hardly anything really. She'd learned that the destruction those emotions wrought on a person were best locked away as they would do her no good.

"Sherlock, can we step outside and talk?" John asked, a slight edge in his tone that was barely detectable. The consulting detective nodded silently and followed his best friend out, leaving the children with Mary.

"M-Mum..." Dean's voice cracked and his lower lip trembled. They could all see that he was holding back tears. He didn't want to cry in front of people, especially being a boy. Resting his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands which caused his sandy bangs to go every which way. "It's not fair!" he moaned.

"Bad things happen to good people all the time, Dean. Life's not fair. You must accept that and be grateful for the time you have left with your mum." Ceridwen stated plainly. The teenage boy looked up at her suddenly with an angry glare and was about to snap at her that it wasn't that easy for someone who wasn't a robot, but then he noticed the expression on her face and his own features softened. It wasn't like she didn't know exactly what she was talking about.

"Oh, Ceridwen..." Mary said, sounding sad and slightly disappointed in the girl's lack of gentleness.

"Ceridwen, maybe it would be best if you and I left." Weston spoke up, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder, but she shrugged him off.

"You and CJ can stay if you want. " the blond teen murmured.

"Oh, no, Weston is right. I can see that it would be best if I left." Ceridwen replied flatly and without another word, she was out the door, brushing past the two men who'd been having a private conversation in the hall. They stopped talking to watch her as she briskly walked away.

"Sherlock, I think you should-"

"It can wait, John. I know exactly where she's going."

* * *

There was a soft breeze playing on Ceridwen's face has she sat on the grass opposite a white marble grave marker. Her hand looked almost as pale as the stone whilst her fingers traced the name "Molly Holmes". This was the closest thing she had to touching her mother.

"Mary's dying. Cancer." she said softly, as if Molly would hear her. "I'm going to lose another mother in a year." The silence she received in response did little to comfort her, but she kept going despite knowing the pointlessness of her actions. "She did many things for me that you would have done if you were still alive. There is the consolation that at least this time I'll have a chance to be there in her last moments, but it hurts. It hurts nearly as much as the first time and for some reason, my mind won't shut it away." After that, Ceridwen fell silent and didn't speak again for a long time. It was getting dark and the sky was a mixture of orange and violet when she heard someone approach, but she did not make any indication that she did.

"The sun is setting and you've been here a while. You should go home." Sherlock told the teenage girl softly, but she continued to ignore him and he sighed. "I know Mary's illness and the fact that you didn't get time to say goodbye to your own mother is unfair, but you mustn't let it get to you, Ceridwen."

"I _know_, Dad. It doesn't change anything." the girl snapped, finally making eye contact with Sherlock. He frowned at her and took a few steps closer.

"Dean wishes me to tell you that he is sorry for what happened earlier. He's waiting with Weston at Baker Street to talk to you." The man changed the subject, hoping to distract her from her anger and persuade her to go home. Even with as much training he'd given her, she still wasn't safe in a cemetery alone so late in the evening.

"I don't want to talk to him."

"Go home." the detective commanded, his tone much more forceful than before. There was concern in his eyes. He'd noticed that Ceridwen was visiting Molly's grave more frequently these days. The only thing he understood about it was that it was surely a bad sign. He wanted her home, away from this marker of painful memories, safe under the watchful eyes of her friends (Mrs. Hudson was spending a week with her sister).

"Fine." The teenage girl stood and followed her father out of the cemetery. He rode with her in the taxi to Baker Street, but didn't get out when they got there, saying he had that case to attend to. Ceridwen went up the flat to find Dean and Weston sitting in the armchairs. She barely acknowledged them before taking off her boots and stretching out on the sofa.

"CJ-" Dean began, but the pale girl cut him off.

"We have nothing to discuss. My father asked you here to keep an eye on me. That is all and it does not necessitate conversation." Ceridwen didn't even look at Dean as she spoke. She was staring up at the ceiling.

"No, I-"

"You're obviously here for nothing else, since you've already apologized, and it seems clear that my father is concerned about me. While that's touching, I assure you it is unnecessary."

"Will you please stop being arrogant and listen! Your dad didn't say anything to us about keeping an eye on you! I just wanted to give you a proper apology!" Dean shouted, standing up. Ceridwen finally looked at him, a shocked expression on her face. "CJ, I'm sorry I was insensitive to your feelings earlier. I should have realized you have it worse than I do. And I'm sorry for yelling at you just now. That was uncalled for. Please forgive me." The only response Ceridwen gave him was to roll over on the sofa so that her back was to him.

"Ceridwen, your dad wouldn't ask us to look after you unless it was for a big reason. Why did you think he did? Is there something you're not telling us?" Weston spoke up, sounding concerned. They saw the girl go completely still.

"Normally I would commend you for excellent observation skills, Weston, but I'm afraid this time you're following a false lead." Ceridwen replied coldly. "There is nothing wrong with me." This only made her friends' concern deepen.

"I didn't say anything was wrong with you, but now I'm beginning to think there is."

"I'm fine. You would like proof, yes?" The young Holmes shot up from the sofa, a slightly crazed look in her eyes. "Traces of crumbs on your shirt. Jammy dodger at a guess. Not the best dinner. Took the tube here, judging by the smell of you. That means you didn't have enough money on you to take a cab. That's because you spent it on a box of jammy dodgers. Hm, you shared them with Dean, looks like. So you see? I'm fine. Never been better."

"CJ-"

"Leave. Me. Alone."

"CJ! There is clearly something bothering you. You're agitated."

"THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME, DO YOU UNDERSTAND!?" The raven curls that cascaded down from Ceridwen's head quivered when she shrieked. For a moment afterwards, the room was quiet and still but for the twitching of the girl's lip.

"Fine. We'll leave, since we're not helping." With that, Dean and Weston walked out. Once she heard them close the front door, Ceridwen lay back down and slipped into her mind cottage.

* * *

Everything in the cottage seemed in disarray. Books lay strewn all over the floors of the rooms and hallways. Random information blew around in gusts. When she Ceridwen bent down to pick up some of the books, she discovered they were all related to her mother in some way, shape, or form. As she looked at them, she found herself growing furious.

"I don't care if you're dead or alive! It doesn't matter anymore! All you're good for now is making me hurt!" she screamed and attempted to rip the books to pieces, but she couldn't damage them, not matter how hard she tried. "Damn it!" Taking as many books as she could into her arms, Ceridwen ran for the cellar, determined to lock away these painful memories. She tripped on the stairs and tumbled down, books flying everywhere. At the bottom, it was completely pitch black. She tried to get to her feet, but it felt like many hands were pushing her down. Then the face of that woman from six years ago appeared in the darkness, that Cecilia Moriarty. She whispered things to the girl that echoed in her ears a thousand times over. Ceridwen screamed for it to stop, but it just kept coming and the hands just kept pushing and pulling her.

* * *

When Sherlock arrived home very late at night, he did not expect to find his flat in complete chaos. Objects of every sort were all over the place. It looked like a tornado had blown through. His mind immediately jumped to Ceridwen. Where was she? Was she safe? What happened here? From the pattern of destruction, it seemed like this mess was wonton and there were no signs of a break in. His daughter must have caused this.

"CERIDWEN!" Sherlock called at the top of his lungs as he began searching the flat. He tried to quell his panic, but it was difficult. In moments, he realized that the trail of chaos let up to the girl's room. He bolted up the stairs, three at a time, dodging the objects strewn over the steps. The door of the bedroom was wide open and Sherlock found the same sort of scene there, but no Ceridwen. His heart pounded in his chest as he turned to see her bathroom door was closed. He immediately grabbed the doorknob, but when he tried to turn it, he found that it was locked. "CERIDWEN! OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW!" When no answer came, Sherlock did not waste any time in picking the lock and bursting through the door. He was confronted with a thick haze of steam and he soon caught sight of the form lying in the bath, fully clothed. When he got closer, he saw the razor on the floor with a trail of red drops leading to the bath and Ceridwen's eyes were closed. It all seemed to be happening in slow motion. He fell to his knees and desperately felt for a pulse. A sigh of relief came from the detective when there was one, however faint. He reached into the dark pink water without stopping to roll up the sleeves of his white shirt and stood to pull his unconscious daughter out of the bath. Laying her on the floor, he pulled out his phone and quickly called an ambulance. A few minutes later, he was sitting next to Ceridwen's stretcher, speeding towards the hospital.

**A/N: Yeah, this arc is _really_ angsty, but I hope you still find it a good read. Remember Grandmummy Holmes' words to Ceridwen at the beginning of the last arc, the ones about helping even if it was unwanted? That's going to come into play very soon. Anyway, please let me know what you think! Thank you! ~T.Z.**


	14. Crawling in the Dark

**A/N: Hey everybody! I'm so proud of myself for updating so quickly. I've been totally focused on this (even at the moments when I really should be doing other things, unfortunately). Thank you all so so much for the reviews, particularly the constructive ones. They stir my emotions. After this chapter, the worst of the angst in this arc will have passed. Oh, and this is now officially the longest fic I've ever written. Anyway, I hope this does not disappoint your expectations.**

**WARNING: This chapter contains grief-striken!Sherlock and heavy discussion of attempted suicide.**

Chapter 14: Crawling in the Dark

They wouldn't let Sherlock Holmes be in the room when they started treating his daughter. They forced him to remain in the waiting room where he paced about, unable to calm his racing mind. Eventually, he pulled out his phone and called Neil Lestrade, never mind that it was three in the morning.

"Hello?"

"Neil, I need to ask you a favor."

"Oh, hello, Mr. Holmes. What do you need at 3am?" The young man didn't sound very sleepy. He was probably up late surfing the internet again. How convenient.

"I need you to hack Ceridwen's laptop."

"What?! No! She's like my little sister and I'm not betraying her trust just so you can invade her privacy, even if you are her dad." Neil shot back.

"My daughter is currently in the hospital for attempting to end her own life. I would think that such a circumstance would negate any need you feel to protect her privacy." Sherlock responded curtly. There was a brief pause on the other end of the phone before Neil spoke again.

"You're at St. Bart's, right? I'll be there with Ceridwen's laptop as soon as possible."

"Yes. Thank you." With that, the young man hung up, leaving Sherlock in silence once again. As the detective put his phone back in his pocket, a nurse approached him, looking solemn.

"Mr. Holmes?"

"Yes?" The young nurse had his complete attention and the way he was staring at her intensely was almost intimidating.

"Your daughter lost a lot of blood, but we stabilized her and she's going to be alright." the woman began. Relief washed over Sherlock. "Were you aware that she has self-harmed before?" This question brought a look of shock to the man's face.

"What?!"

"We found multiple older razor marks on the sides of her torso." This was news to Sherlock and it felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. How could he not have noticed? This was all his fault. "I'm sorry, sir."

"May...may I see her now?" He did his best to hide the trembling in his voice, but it was still vaguely detectible. The nurse nodded and guided him to Ceridwen's room. There the sixteen year old lay unconscious on the bed with an IV hooked up to her. Her left forearm was bandaged and they'd put her in a white hospital gown. Slowly, Sherlock approached and reached out to brush a few locks of Ceridwen's still damp hair out of her face. Her pale skin was cold and clammy to the touch. _ I failed her and I broke my promise to Molly. I couldn't protect her from herself..._the man thought sorrowfully. He was to blame for this mess. Moisture welled up in his eyes and threatened to spill over. He blinked, trying desperately to get rid of the horrible sensation.

"Mr. Holmes, there's a young man here who says he has something you called for. His name's Neil Lestrade."

"Let him in." he replied as he turned to look toward the door. A moment later, the dark haired twenty two year old came in and abruptly stopped upon taking in the scene before him.

"Oh my God." he breathed. That was when Sherlock realized the sleeves and front of his white dress shirt had been stained by the bath water earlier. When Neil was finally able to pry his gaze from the consulting detective, he looked intently at Ceridwen. "Why? Why would she do this?"

"I was hoping her laptop would shed some light on that."

"Oh, right." Neil sheepishly handed Sherlock the computer out of his messenger bag. "I hacked into it on my cab ride here. It was easy considering that I was the one who secured it in the first place." Without hesitation, Sherlock took the laptop and sat down in a nearby chair to open it. He pulled up Ceridwen's digital journal and began to read. What he found gave him what he wanted. There was a recent entry that expressed that she had begun to have nightmares again. The more he read, the more Sherlock felt like he'd failed as a father. She went on to talk about the content of these nightmares, how they made her feel like there was something crawling her veins, some sort of numbing emptiness that had been trying to consume her for a long time. There were mentions of how she felt that Sherlock was boxing her in and expecting too much of her. She didn't want him to worry about her and decline in health because of it. In one entry, Ceridwen listed some of the things that Cecilia Moriarty had said and done to her six years ago and her father now understood upon reading these why the girl had been so traumatized. In the latest entry, all she said was that she was feeling every emotion she had ever tried to lock away, like the breaking of a dam, and she had to find a way to make it stop. The result was laying in front of Sherlock. Suddenly, the man shut the laptop and set it aside.

"Neil, you can go if you like." he said quietly, for once making an attempt at politeness.

"You sure?" The look the detective gave him said it all and he nodded. "Right, I'll be going then." As soon as Neil was gone, Sherlock took Ceridwen's hand in both his own and let the tears flow for the first time since Molly's death. He wasn't being watched and he needed to purge himself of the grief and guilt forcing itself to the surface from inside him. Sherlock stayed at his daughter's bedside through the night, long after the tears had stopped and his face had become stoic.

Late in the morning, John came in with Dean and Weston, both of whom turned pale at seeing Ceridwen lying there with her wrist all bandaged up and her father wearing a bloodstained shirt. The ex-military doctor silently handed Sherlock a tabloid. The headline read in big white letters "DAUGHTER OF BRITAIN'S FAVORITE DETECTIVE ATTEMPTS SUICIDE" over a picture from a few months ago of Sherlock and Ceridwen at a Scotland Yard press conference, both wearing grimaces.

"I don't know how they found out and published so quickly, but I thought you aught know before you step outside the hospital."

"I knew this would happen. I deduced that the woman in the waiting room with me earlier was a journalist. It doesn't matter." Sherlock replied flatly. All he cared about right now was the moment Ceridwen would open her eyes and see that he hadn't left her side.

"Mr. Holmes, it's our fault." Dean suddenly spoke up. The two teenage boys wore expressions of crushing guilt. John put his hand on his son's shoulder supportively. "If we hadn't angered her and left, she may not have done this." They both stared at their feet, afraid to meet Sherlock's gaze.

"It was nothing you did." Sherlock began, coaxing the boys into looking at him. John stared at his best friend in surprise. "The blame for what has happened rests on my shoulders and mine alone." It was incredibly rare to hear this man take responsibility like this. It was like Ceridwen's actions were a slap in the face that woke Sherlock up to the true nature of his daughter's problem.

"Sherlock..." John said in a tone of deep sympathy.

"Ceridwen?" Weston called, his eyes fixed on his friend. The girl's eyes had fluttered open. All their attention was on her as she looked around the room, taking in where she was and who was there with her. Once she'd done this, she settled on staring at the ceiling. "How are you feeling?" Ceridwen gave no answer.

"Do you remember why you're here?" John asked and the only response he received was a terse nod. There was a tired, drained look in the girl's blue eyes as she looked at her wrapped wrist.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Dean came closer to Ceridwen and reached out to take her hand, but she pulled away.

"Stop apologizing, Dean." It was the first thing she said and her voice was quiet and virtually expressionless except for hints of agitation. Sherlock noticed that she was eyeing the needle of her IV rather longingly and he tightened his grip on her hand. For the first time in what felt like ages, Ceridwen made eye contact with him. The look on his face quite clearly said 'don't you dare think of hurting yourself again'. She caught site of her father's heavily stained shirt, but didn't seem to react to it. "How am I feeling? Less dead than I should be." she said after a moment.

"That's not funny, CJ."

"I wasn't joking."

"Everyone in this room cares about you, Ceridwen. We want to help you." John consoled.

"If you all knew what it's like to crawl around in the darkest depths of your own mind, searching for answers and finding only despair, you would know that I'm beyond help." Sherlock stiffened at these words.

"I do know what that's like." he said and Ceridwen looked at him as if he was some shocking thing she'd never seen before. Then she glanced at her laptop, which was on a nearby table, and her expression hardened.

"Do you really know, or do you just claim to because you got Neil to hack my laptop so you could read my journal?" Sherlock let out a sigh at this and exchanged looks with his best friend. Understanding the message, John wordlessly dragged the two teenage boys out of the room with him, leaving the detective alone with Ceridwen.

"Ceridwen, I have been through quite a few hardships of my own. You underestimate my ability to understand what you're feeling." There was along moment of silence after this in which the two did nothing but gaze at each other, but then Sherlock reached in his pocket and took out a silver locket. "A nurse gave this to me last night. He said it was on you." It was Ceridwen's most treasured possession, despite its blatant sentimentality. It had once been Molly's and it contained a small photo of the girl's parents dancing together at Christmas on one side with one of her four year old self smiling on the other. The teenager reached out to take the locket from Sherlock, but he pulled away. "You can't have this back until you're healthy." This earned the man a glare. "I just thought you might appreciate the knowledge that it's safe." There was another long silence before Ceridwen spoke.

"What will happen to me once I've physically recovered?"

"You will come home. I'm not going to put you in the care of others."

"Okay." Ceridwen replied simply and Sherlock was surprised at her lack of objections. It didn't sit right with him. Giving her hand one last squeeze, he got up.

"I have some business to attend to and I'm sure your friends are eager to talk to you, so I'll be off. I shall return this evening." Sherlock told his daughter and she nodded. When he turned to leave, the sixteen year old reached for her IV needle. He whirled around and grabbed Ceridwen's wrist firmly, locking his gaze with hers. "I will have them sedate you if that's what it takes to keep you safe. Understood?" he hissed. The girl's eyes were wide with surprise and remained that way for a long moment.

"Alright, just...just please don't make me go to sleep." At this, Sherlock loosened his grip on her wrist significantly and his expression softened.

"Will you promise me that you won't harm yourself again?" he asked as he let go of Ceridwen's arm. Her spindly, pale fingers fidgeted with the fabric of her hospital gown for a few minutes before she gave her answer.

"I promise."

* * *

_Sherlock Holmes was proud to say that at the age of four, his daughter could read at the level of someone triple her age and conduct a dissection better than many uni students. As a Christmas gift (Molly had insisted that he get Ceridwen one), the detective gave the little girl a preserved bat which she now had pinned up on her aluminum tray at the kitchen table. At the moment, Ceridwen's parents were watching her take a slice out of one of the wings to put on a slide. She wanted to see what it looked like up close (Sherlock used this opportunity to teach her the word 'magnified' and all its synonyms). Molly agreed to let her use a scalpel, but under the condition that her father had to watch her closely. The man was doing just that and his eyes followed Ceridwen's actions carefully. Occasionally, he would whisper advice to her and in his eyes, she was the perfect student. She was obedient, intelligent, and thirsty for knowledge._

_ "This skin is tough." the little girl commented as she tried to cut. It was a stark reminder that Ceridwen was weak even for a child._

_ "Be careful. If you nip away at it with the tip of your scalpel, you'll be able to cut it slowly and precisely." Sherlock suggested and she adjusted her grip on the instrument. However, her hand shook trying to keep her hand steady enough to do as her father suggested. Her hand slipped and cut the side of her left thumb. Abruptly, she dropped the scalpel, but didn't scream or cry. Instead, she just bit her lip and let out a soft whimper. Sherlock immediately took her hand to gently examine the damage. "Not deep enough to need stitches."_

_ "I'll get her a plaster, you clean it up." Molly called as she hurried toward the bathroom. With a sigh, the dark haired man pulled their daughter out of her chair and guided her to the kitchen sink. She stood on her tip toes as Sherlock ran water over her thumb._

_ "This is what happens when you aren't careful."_

_ "I-I'm sorry, Dad. My hand was shaky."_

_ "Well then I'll just have to help you with that next time."_

_ "Okay." Sherlock and Molly didn't make a big deal out of Ceridwen's frailty. They accepted it and did their best to make her life easier, but at the same time they didn't want her to feel like a burden._

_ "Here, hold out your thumb, dear." Molly told Ceridwen when she reappeared. The little girl complied and allowed her mother to rub her cut with a cotton ball that felt cool and damp before having it wrapped with a plaster. "There. Now I think that's enough dissecting for today." Ceridwen made a pout face at this and Molly laughed, giving her daughter a kiss on the forehead. "The Watsons and Lestrades will be here in a few hours to celebrate Christmas with us. Why don't you go upstairs and change into one of your really nice jumpers while your dad and I clean up?"_

_ "Okay, Mum."_

_ Much later, when it was long past the time the children should have gone to bed, Neil, Weston, Dean, and Ceridwen were playing cards around the coffee table and messing with the camera app on Mary's phone. The adults on the other side of the room had been made relaxed and of good humor by a few glasses of wine. Mary was playing a rather cheerful waltz on the piano while the others laughed about something._

_ "Sherlock once told me his mother forced him to learn dancing." John said with a smirk._

_ "Yes, that's true."_

_ "Well, show us what you learned. I want proof."_

_ "Come now, John. Just because I can doesn't mean I will."_

_ "I'd like to dance with you, Sherlock." Molly put in, smoothing the front of her dark green dress. The man seemed to consider it for a moment before spontaneously taking hold of his wife and starting to waltz with her around the room. She giggled and he grinned. The moment was preserved forever when Ceridwen snapped a picture with Mary's phone._

* * *

It took Sherlock a few hours to clean the flat of the huge mess Ceridwen had made and once he was done, he found himself to be completely exhausted. After showering and changing into some fresh clothes, the consulting detective collapsed on the sofa and took a long nap. When he awoke, it was early evening and he remembered that he wanted to go back to St. Bart's, so he sprung up from the sofa and hurried out to flag down a taxi. Upon arriving at the hospital and going to his daughter's room, he was surprised to find Anthea and Leland already there.

"Ah, hello, Uncle. Ceridwen was just saying that you'd be back soon." the twenty three year old woman greeted with a smile. "We were discussing the option of having her cared for at the estate. Grandmummy thinks it would be best for her. However, we need your consent to have her released and put into our family's care."

"How do you feel about this, Ceridwen?" Sherlock asked immediately, looking to his daughter expectantly.

"I...don't like being here. I would...much rather stay with Grandmummy." the teenage girl replied softly and slowly. Leland's smile widened at this and she watched intently as her uncle mulled over Ceridwen's words.

"Very well." he replied simply after a moment. Anthea handed him a clipboard with a form on it and a pen. He quickly filled it out and signed it before handing it back to Mycroft's assistant. She went off to turn the paper in and a few minutes later, she returned with a nurse who carefully detached Ceridwen from her IV.

**A/N: ...and there you have it. I really hope I didn't make Sherlock horribly OOC in this chapter. He's an incredibly difficult character to write, especially when you put him in these sorts of situations. In case anyone was wondering, the reason I never spell out what Cecilia said to Ceridwen is that I would have to change the rating of this fic to M because of horrific imagery. I really don't want to do that. The song Mary plays in the flashback is the theme from Howl's Moving Castle. There may be some comic relief in the next chapter in the form of interaction between two characters you wouldn't expect to meet each other. Kudos if you can guess who they are. Anyway, thanks for reading! Reviews are eternally appreciated. ~T.Z.**


	15. Dawn

**A/N: Hey everybody! Thanks for the lovely reviews! This chapter starts out angsty, but it gets considerably lighter very quickly to the point that I even attempted silly humor. Please enjoy and let me know what you think.**

Chapter 15: Dawn

When Sherlock and Ceridwen were driven to the Holmes estate, the detective hadn't been expecting to be separated from his daughter the moment they arrived. Rage welled up inside him as he watched his mother lead Ceridwen away while Leland and Sefton held him back, preventing him from following.

"Ceridwen!" he called, but she didn't look around. However, he saw her shoulders tense and he knew that she wanted to. "What's going on!?" he snapped at his niece and nephew, struggling against them.

"Brother, if you would kindly calm yourself, I will tell you." Mycroft appeared, looking a little grim. Sherlock stopped fighting to glare at his older brother in contempt. "In order for my dear niece to recover, she must be separated from her father. It's clear that you're not very good for her mental health." This hit a _very_ raw nerve with Sherlock and he let out a low, threatening growl.

"She needs me, you imbecile."

"That is precisely her problem."

"What do you mean?" the younger brother demanded, his eyes growing wide in confusion.

"Ceridwen depends on you to show her how to handle bad situations. When she truly needs help, you either botch it up or leave her hanging. Given what she tried to do, I'd say we can't afford such carelessness and she should seek help from someone else for a change." Mycroft explained calmly. With this, Sherlock met Leland's eyes and glared at her icily.

"She doesn't want to be without my presence, what did you say to her to make her agree to this?" The young woman's hard expression faltered at being deduced by her uncle, but she never the less responded evenly.

"I told her precisely what father just said." At this, the consulting detective tore himself away from his niece and nephew and stormed away in the direction of his own room. Slamming the door, locking it, and flopping onto his enormous, comfy bed, Sherlock put his hands together under his chin and closed his eyes. He accessed his mind palace and went to the room where the memories of his dear late wife resided. He found her lounging on the small, overstuffed sofa he'd slept on in her flat before they were married.

"Hello, Sherlock. What do you need?" she greeted him cheerfully. It pleased him to know that he still remembered the sound of her voice as if she'd last spoken to him only a few minutes ago.

"I need to relax."

"Okay. Come here." Molly got up and approached him to wrap her arms around him. Calm washed over him as he recalled what it felt like to be hugged by his pathologist. "Let them take care of Ceridwen. Mycroft was right and it's not like your family wishes her harm. She's safe with them." she muttered to him.

"Thank you." When Sherlock finally opened his eyes, it was two days later and a tea tray was on his bedside table. A note lay next to the plate of biscuits and he frowned, picking it up to read it. It was in Mycroft's scrawl. It read: _Brother, since you have decided to go mentally elsewhere, I wrote this to inform you upon your wakening that Ceridwen should be well enough tomorrow to start having visitors. -Mycroft._ Sherlock raised his eyebrows at this and in the light, he could see writing on the other side of the paper. He turned it over to find a note from Leland and Sefton (though knowing the young man and the fact that it was written in his sister's dainty hand, his name had only been tacked on at the end for the young woman's own purposes). It read: _Uncle, we apologize for angering you. We understand that our actions may have been perceived as deceitful. We merely wish the best for our cousin and hope that you will forgive us. -Leland and Sefton._ The faintest of smiles crept onto Sherlock's face when he read this. Things were looking up.

The tea had gone cold a while ago, but the detective still ate a few biscuits before go off to look for his daughter's laptop. It only took him a few minutes to deduce its possible locations. Fortunately, he was saved a lot of trouble by bumping into his niece while wandering through the mansion's grand halls. As it so happened, she was holding Ceridwen's laptop in her hands when he found her.

"Oh, hello there, Uncle. Feeling better?" she greeted him, smiling genuinely. It was quite different than the smile she'd learnt from her father. "You look like you've gotten some much needed rest." It was true. The dark circles that had previously been very present around Sherlock's eyes had gone away.

"Yes, as a matter of fact."

"Everyone shall be glad to hear it." There was a happiness in her voice that he rarely heard from her.

"You seem particularly elated. Why?"

"I spoke to Ceridwen this morning. She was feeling well enough to have a little verbal spar with me." Sherlock had to agree that it was a good sign. Ceridwen never engaged Leland if she was in a foul mood. "I also asked her about the superb security on her laptop here. I would like to meet this Neil Lestrade. My father could use a man with such skill." The detective let out a low chuckle at this.

"That young man is in no way likely to be keen on working for any brother of mine, particularly one that happens to be the British government. Convincing him to take such a job would require persuasion skills beyond your own."

"Is that so? Well, I wouldn't be too sure." Leland replied, narrowing her eyes. "I got ahold of Mr. Lestrade's number and invited him to come see Ceridwen."

"So I see from the way you are dressed, but it's not going to work." Sherlock said, laughing again. "Now, I was wondering if you might give me my daughter's computer." He held out his hand to receive it and the young woman politely obliged.

"Of course, Uncle." Giving the raven haired man a nod, she went on her way without saying goodbye and wearing a defiant expression. Sherlock privately noted that he'd enjoy being there when Leland and Neil met. It would likely prove to be quite entertaining.

* * *

_There were many things that qualified Sherlock and Molly as unusual parents. They ranged from never putting their daughter under the illusion that Santa Claus existed to encouraging the four year old to cut up dead animals with very sharp objects. Somewhere between those two lay their allowing Ceridwen to watch horror films. This resulted in her obtaining Molly's mentality towards the genre, which was generally one of humor. They would watch these movies and Molly (Sherlock too if he was present) would point out everything that was ridiculous and physically impossible. The indoctrination of the Holmes child was complete when during one movie, the pathologist made a comment about how the filmmakers must have had a huge ketchup budget and sent Ceridwen into a fit of giggles that didn't truly subside until long after the movie was over. _

_ Funnily enough, the Holmeses didn't stop there. The first occasion in which it was necessary for Molly to look after Neil and Weston in the evening after work and Ceridwen suggested they watch Night of the Living Dead and despite being unsure of what the boys' parents would think, the pathologist agreed. Not much later, they were all piled into the big red armchair in 221B, laughing at the ridiculousness of the movie._

_ "They already tried the phone!" Neil snickered._

_ "I didn't know zombies were smart enough to cut wires." Ceridwen commented. It sounded particularly funny coming from such a small child. Molly could barely stop laughing as she ruffled her daughter's raven locks. When the movie ended, the children were still full of energy, even after giggling nearly non-stop for two hours._

_ "Let's play detective!" Weston suggested and the other two made sounds of agreement. "But Dean's not here. We need a doctor." he added after making a sudden realization. Ceridwen turned to her mother and smiled at this._

_ "Mum, will you be our doctor?" she asked and the brunette woman grinned._

_ "Of course, dear. Which one of you is the detective I'll be working with?" She'd watched them play this game before. One of them would be the detective, one the doctor, one the murderer, and one the victim. It was kind of cute, especially considering their parents' professions. Every time it was like a little improvised play that they would act out for their own amusement._

_ "Me!" Ceridwen proclaimed excitedly._

_ "No, I wanna be detective this time! You got to be detective last time!" Neil complained._

_ "You can be the victim this time. You make funny dead person faces."_

_ "So!? Being the victim is boring! Let me be the murderer, at least."_

_ "No."_

_ "You're just mad because you can't keep up with me when we do chases!"_

_ "Obviously. You're too big."_

_ "You can't keep up with Weston or Dean either! Whenever you're detective, the doctor always catches the murderer in the chase!" Upon noticing the hurt look on Ceridwen's face, Molly could see that this argument was not only failing to solve anything, but also heading quickly in the direction of a sensitive topic._

_ "I-I didn't know that was bad..." the little girl said quietly. Her parents had always told her that it was okay that she couldn't run as fast or long as other kids._

_ "Neil, that wasn't very nice." Molly scolded, though she knew the boy didn't understand fully why what he said was unkind._

_ "I'm sorry, Ceridwen. It's okay. I won't run so fast this time." The pale girl's face brightened immediately at this. "C'mon, Weston. Lay on the floor and be the victim."_

_ "But I don't wanna!"_

_ "Boys, calm down. I'll be the victim and Weston can be the doctor." Molly put in with a smile as she lay down on the floor and pretended to be dead. This seemed to excite the children endlessly. Ceridwen practicality skipped as she went to fetch her father's deerstalker. At first, the pathologist thought the little girl was going to put it on her head (an image of a disapproving Sherlock came to mind at this thought), but then she handed it to Neil._

_ "This is your murder weapon." Ceridwen's small voice declared. Sherlock's distain for the hat had evidently rubbed off on his daughter. It took every ounce of Molly's willpower not to stop pretending to be dead and roll around on the floor in a fit of giggles. "Now go and hide." After the other two closed their eyes and began counting down from ten, the eldest child promptly crawled under the sofa, deerstalker in hand. Once the countdown was finished, Ceridwen called out, "Okay, let's start." and they opened their eyes. Weston immediately knelt down next to Molly and started poking her. It tickled, but the woman kept her composure. "What would you say is the cause of death, Dr. Weston?"_

_ "She died of too many ouchies." the younger Lestrade brother replied in the gravest tone he could manage._

_ "My thoughts exactly." Ceridwen replied. Her mother was sure the girl had learnt that phrase from listening to Sherlock. "How'd she get those ouchies?"_

_ "Someone threw a Deadly Frisbee Hat of Doom at her, looks like."_

_ "We must arrest the murderer at once! Who has a Deadly Frisbee Hat of Doom?"_

_ "I don't know. Let's look it up." Weston and Ceridwen then went over to the desk and pretended to type on Molly's laptop. "A bloke called Neil has one. Let's go find him!" This prompted a search around the flat for the place Neil had hidden. After a few minutes, Ceridwen discovered her friend under the sofa._

_ "Neil Lestrade, you are under arrest for murder!" At this, the boy shot out and dashed across the room towards the kitchen, shouting._

_ "You'll never take me alive!" He turned around briefly to throw the hat like a frisbee at Ceridwen, who easily ducked out of its path. Unfortunately, that meant it hit Weston square in the chest. The boy feigned a horrible fatal cry before collapsing onto the sofa and also pretending to be dead._

_ "Oh no! My friend! REVENGE!" The little girl took up the fallen hat and chased after Neil. When she threw it, it hit him in the back and he too pretended to die an agonizing death. Ceridwen did a little dance of victory before realizing that everyone else in the flat was pretending to be dead and she was all alone. Or was she?_

_ "Dear lord, this flat is full of dead people. What have you been up to, Ceridwen?" the familiar voice of a certain silver haired detective called and the girl looked over to see Greg Lestrade and her father standing in the doorway, both appearing to be very amused._

_ "I think a funnier line would have been 'I see dead people.'" Molly commented as she rose from the floor and went to pick her daughter up. The inspector chuckled and watched as both his sons got up too and came over to him._

_ "We were playing detective, Dad." Weston told him and Sherlock smirked._

_ "Were you now?"_

_ "Yep. Ceridwen was the detective this time. I was the doctor." The raven haired man's smirk became a grin at this._

_ "May I ask why you have my deerstalker, Neil?" he asked the ten year old boy, saying the word deerstalker as if it were something horribly disgusting. Ceridwen was quick to answer for her friend._

_ "It was the murder weapon, dad. Everybody got killed with the Deadly Frisbee Hat of Doom." The flat was instantly filled with the sound of Sherlock's rich, baritone laughter._

* * *

Neil Lestrade had never been anywhere quite as beautiful and extravagant as the Holmes estate before. He felt distinctly out of place with his spiky hair and combat boots. However, knowing where he was visiting and the people who lived there, he had made somewhat of an effort to dress well. He wore black jeans and a dark red dress shirt with a black vest. It was as dressy as his normal wardrobe got. He owned one suit and he wasn't going to pull it out just to make an impression on a woman he probably would never see again. Said woman was the first person to greet him upon his arrival.

"Hello, you must be Mr. Lestrade." She held out her hand for him to shake, which he accepted with a smile. "I am Leland Holmes. It's very nice to meet you in person." It took the man a moment to respond verbally as he was distracted by Leland's very well dressed figure.

"Hi." he said awkwardly and the auburn haired woman grinned. "So, um, you said Ceridwen is in your grandmother's care now. How's she handling that?"

"My dear cousin is recovering rather quickly. The psychologists who have been assisting her were able to figure out what was wrong and how to fix it. She started taking visitors this morning." Leland explained as she guided Neil through the manor.

"I'd like to know how they got her to talk about her feelings."

"Oh, for the most part, they didn't have to. Her laptop provided the majority of what was needed." Neil's eyes widened at this. Leland laughed light heartedly. "The security that computer has on it is quite noteworthy and I happen to know that it was you who put it there."

"So what if I was?"

"Mr. Lestrade, do you know who my father is?"

"All I know is that he's Ceridwen's uncle."

"Yes, and he also happens to be involved in the British government." At this, a look of comprehension came across the young man's face.

"Oh, no no no no. I am _not_ going to work for your father." Neil declared, shaking his head.

"Oooh, you are quick, Mr. Lestrade. I like that. I can see why Ceridwen considers you a friend." Leland replied, stepping a little closer to him. "You really would do well in considering this job opportunity, especially given your current economic situation." Neil gaped at the woman for these words. How on Earth did she know he was hard up? It wasn't like he looked it, so it couldn't have been her Holmes genes working on him. Of course, she did have very close ties to the government, so she could probably find out things about him easily.

"Listen, I really _don't_ want to get involved in that sort of thing."

"May I call you Neil?" Leland suddenly asked.

"I kind of liked it when you were calling me Mr. Lestrade, but sure, whatever." The woman took this in stride and continued.

"Neil, I think you should know that I am aware of your...ahem...history regarding the use of your particular computer skills. It would be very unfortunate if that history were to get you into serious trouble with certain people. Should you change your mind regarding my offer, I can assure you that your little transgressions will be quickly forgiven."

"Ms. Holmes, did you invite me here to discuss my employment or allow me to see Ceridwen?" Neil inquired curtly. Leland continued to wear that devilish grin as she replied.

"To see your friend, of course. I just couldn't pass this particular opportunity up."

"Somehow, I don't believe you."

"My my, someone's getting a little tetchy."

"A little tetchy!?" the dark haired man responded incredulously. "I'm very irritated, woman. Now take me to Ceridwen or I'm leaving."

"No need to be rude. My cousin is in that room at the end of the corridor." She pointed at the lovely oaken door farthest from them and Neil left her behind without another word. She watched him go with a deeply pleased expression on her face.

**A/N: ...and there you are. I really tried to be funny, but I don't know if it turned out well. What do you think of the bit between Neil and Leland? Any and all reviews are welcome! Thanks again! ~T.Z.**


	16. That Same Look

**A/N: Hey there! I hope you're all enjoy the Holidays (if you celebrate any)! It took me a little while to write this due to this being a transition between arcs. This next one revolves around a case that I hope you all find quite interesting. I tried to come up with a crime that isn't written about a lot in Sherlock fics. I like what I settled on. Anyway, please R&R.**

Chapter 16: That Same Look

When Neil Lestrade came into his young friend's room, he found her laying in a rather large, comfortable looking bed with her father sitting beside her, quietly speaking to her, a soft expression on his face. The man looked over at Neil when he entered and his expression hardened, but other than that, he showed no response.

"Er, hello. I hope I'm not interrupting." the twenty two year old said awkwardly and Ceridwen gave him a small reassuring smile.

"No, it's quite alright." There was a gentleness in the teenage girl's voice that Neil couldn't remember ever hearing from her before. "I know you're going to ask me how I'm feeling so I'll just go ahead and say I feel as if a weight has been lifted from my chest." Neil grinned at this. Ceridwen was still as clever as always. "When you came in you seemed flustered. Had a little encounter with my cousin, did you? She can be quite frustrating. No doubt she offered you a government job. A pointless action on her part, but once she latches onto something, she doesn't let go easily. It's a weakness of hers but it can be dangerous. Be weary of her, Neil." Ceridwen went on, a hint of bitter amusement in her tone.

"Wow, you really have gotten better. You're being spiteful." the young man laughed.

"Yes. The people who came in to help me were up on the latest studies on memory, it seems, and they were able to assist me in deleting a few of the horrible memories infecting my mind. I have broken my chains and risen from the darkness." Her last sentence struck Neil as a little odd and he noticed that Sherlock's grip on his daughter's hand tightened. However, the twenty two year old remembered that being around Ceridwen meant occasionally hearing random poetic statements. At the very least, it made hanging around her even more interesting than it already was.

"That's great. I was really worried about you for a while there. Everyone was."

"I know. I am sorry for that." She hadn't realized just how much her actions had affected those around until Sherlock had come to see her and told her. She deeply regretted the hell she had put her father and everyone else through in the past few days and saw how selfish she had been. Neil approached her and slowly placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. He really was like a big brother to her.

"When are you coming home? Do you know?" These questions appeared to particularly spark Sherlock's interest as the man gazed at his daughter intently, carefully analyzing her reaction.

"I'm told there is still much progress to be made in terms of my recovery, but the speed at which that recovery is made is gaged entirely on my desire to get better. Let me say that I would like to be home again before the start of the new school year." Ceridwen reassured them, earning her a grin from Neil. Sherlock relaxed considerably at her words and even visibly seemed quite pleased. The girl's silky white sheets rustling was the only sound in the room as she extended her arms out to embrace Neil. At first, the young man was surprised, but then he returned the gesture gently. "Tell your brother and Dean that I blame them for nothing and I hope to see them soon." she whispered to him. He gave a small noise of affirmation before letting her go. The sixteen year old wore a smile and she leaned back into her pillow.

* * *

Ceridwen did indeed return home before school started up again. Her normally waist length raven locks were sheared to her shoulders and there was new life in the way she walked. Her friends seemed even more glued to her side than before, almost like they'd assigned themselves as her personal bodyguards. Sherlock happily resumed his work, deflecting the nosey media almost effortlessly. In school, Ceridwen often caught others whispering about her and the things they'd heard, she didn't let it bother her. The only thing she let plague her conscience was Mary's slowly deteriorating health. John and Dean handled it all rather well after the initial shock, but most surprisingly of all, Mary appeared to be barely bothered by the fact that she was dying. She carried on almost as if nothing had happened. Ceridwen found it rather inspirational and comforting.

Summer passed into Autumn, which quickly gave way to Winter. Ceridwen turned seventeen. End of term marked the beginning of the Holidays, and that meant the young Holmes was free to go on cases with her father. He needed her even more than usual with John's increasing need to take care of Mary. Lestrade only agreed to let the teenager in on investigations with the condition that she help put up Christmas decorations at Scotland Yard. That is how she found herself in the unusual position of sitting on Weston's shoulders to put a rather obnoxiously large golden star on the top of a tree.

"You can put me down now." she announced and upon noticing that he wasn't listening, gave his chest a kick with her heel. He promptly snapped out of it and blushed before bending down so she could get off. Noticing how he rubbed his chest where she had kicked him, Ceridwen gave him a wry smirk. "If you had been paying attention and not thinking about my legs, I wouldn't have had to do that." Weston turned bright red at this and stared at her in embarrassment. This didn't phase the young woman in the slightest and she turned to see Annie Anderson a few meters away, glaring at her as she hung lights in what could only be jealousy and hatred. Ceridwen had to resist the urge to stick out her tongue in a childish gesture. "I trust my service as a decorator is complete?"

"Er, no, n-not yet. One more thing." Weston stammered and his friend narrowed her eyes at him.

"You're not a very good liar."

"Oh...just come with me!" He grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the copier room. Once they were there and Weston was sure no one was within earshot, he turned to Ceridwen and looked as if he wanted to say something but couldn't get it out.

"This clearly has to do with the box in your pocket. Obviously a gift for me that you are not sure I will like but sincerely hope I do. Let's have it, then. You won't find out if you never give it to me." the seventeen year old said with a sigh and Weston's eyes widened. He nervously took the gift from his blue coat pocket and thrust it into Ceridwen's hands. It was a neatly wrapped little thing, complete with a modest black ribbon bow. She carefully unfolded the red paper, presuming it was jewelry of some sort, knowing her friends' track record regarding Christmas gifts to her. She was surprised to find upon opening the box that it was in fact a memory stick. "Explain." she demanded, wearing a puzzled frown.

"It has songs on it that remind me of you." Ceridwen still didn't understand. Why would he want her to listen to songs that reminded him of her? Deciding to get out while he was still ahead, Weston placed a quick kiss on her cheek before blurting out "MERRYCHRISTMASCERIDWEN!" and dashing off, leaving the girl still utterly flummoxed. As she stared at the memory stick, she wondered if his brother had slipped him some sort of drug to make him act strangely. Putting it out of her mind, Ceridwen put it in her pocket and headed for Chief Inspector Lestrade's office. He would most likely know where her father was. Fortunately, she didn't have to go to the trouble as she caught sight of the consulting detective rounding the corner and coming toward her. He looked rather excited.

"Ceridwen, we're on the serial arsonist case!" he called with a grin. A delighted laugh escaped her. She couldn't believe Greg had let her in on such a high profile investigation. Christmas had come early. Sherlock handed her the file and the more she read, the more excited she got.

"It'll be a thrill cracking this one." she commented.

"Indeed! There is much work to be done. Come, I need you to interview a survivor." The man put his arm around his daughter and led her on.

"Why me? Why not do it yourself?" she asked, eyes narrowed. Sherlock smirked at her.

"I have a distinct feeling this person will open up to you more easily." A moment later, Ceridwen discovered why. Sitting at the table in the interrogation room was a young man who couldn't be more than two or three years older than her. A quick scan of his person told her that he was a bit of a ladies' man. She turned and shot her father an incredulous glare before putting on a soft smile and entering the room.

"Hello. My name is Ceridwen Holmes. I'm involved in the investigation of the recent serial arsons." she introduced herself, holding out her hand for him to shake.

"I know who you are. I must say, you look even lovelier in person." he replied, taking her hand and kissing it. "Jake Hensley at your service." She wasn't quite sure how to react to this, but she didn't falter.

"That's very kind of you to say, Mr. Hensley. I'll do anything I can to find out who burnt down your building. Let's start with what you remember about the incident." On the other side of the glass, Sherlock couldn't help but grin. Ceridwen was learning quickly.

"I already made a statement to Scotland Yard, though. Didn't you read it?"

"Yes, and if you really know who I am, you know I can get much more from talking to you in person than reading the report." A bit of the teen's true self shone through, but it still achieved the desired effect.

"Ah, right, sorry, my mistake." The rest of the interview was a smooth process of deduction and confirmation, that is until Jake became flirtatious to the point that Ceridwen was finding it difficult to respond. It made her incredibly uncomfortable. He pressed the side of his leg against hers and a startled expression came across her face. It was at this point that Sherlock decided it was time to step in and bail his daughter out.

"That's enough, Mr. Hensley." he snapped at the young man coldly upon entering the room. When Jake gave him a fake look of confusion, Sherlock's anger grew. "Don't touch my daughter. Particularly in that manner." Seeing the look the detective was giving him, Hensley didn't hesitate in scooting his chair back so that it was impossible for him to touch Ceridwen. "Come on, we have what we need." The young woman immediately shot up from her seat to meet Sherlock in the doorway. As they left, he noticed the upset expression on her face. "Don't look so morose. Emotional manipulation is a valuable tool. You must learn to use it with confidence."

"Understood, but I would have appreciated a little more forewarning." Ceridwen really hadn't liked being pushed into that situation as she was.

"Of course. I'll remember that in future."

* * *

_While Sherlock Holmes had come a long way in terms of his understanding of emotions in the many years since he'd met Molly, discussion of feelings like love was still difficult to him. That's why he considered watching telly with his three year old daughter slightly dangerous to his sanity when Molly was off at work. Fortunately, the girl's latest inquiry regarding a romantic moment on the television took place while his dear wife was at home._

_ "I like Mrs. Doctor. She's clever." Ceridwen commented in her little voice, eyes glued to the television screen._

_ "She's not The Doctor's wife." Molly told her with a laugh._

_ "Whaaaaat?! But she kissed his mouth! Mums and dads kiss each other like that!" This attracted Sherlock's attention from his laptop, an expression of mild amusement on his face. Children sometimes came to the most laughable conclusions._

_ "You don't have to be married to someone to kiss him or her like that. I kissed your dad like that long before we were married." There was now a look of shock and awe on the little girl's face and Molly could have sworn she saw Sherlock's cheeks tint pink._

_ "Really, Dad?" This received a look of surprise from the consulting detective, who was normally prepared for almost anything and could now only nod. "Why?" That question in particular put him at a temporary loss for words._

_ "That's a question for you, Molly. Explaining such things is not my area." he replied when he could finally answer. The pathologist laughed at this and pulled their little girl onto her lap._

_ "Someday, Ceridwen, you're going to meet and get to know a boy that you like so much that you're willing to do anything for him. He'll make you feel like melted ice cream when he looks at you and you'll want to touch him and be his favorite person in the whole world. That's the sort of person you kiss on the lips." the woman explained with a warm smile._

_ "Oh...does that mean Dad makes you feel like melted ice cream when he looks at you?" At this, Molly threw a glance at her husband, who was smirking._

_ "Why yes, dear. Yes, he does."_

* * *

The smell in the air was acrid when Ceridwen Holmes stepped out of the cab with her father. The source was of course the remnants of the building in front of them, wisps of smoke still in the air as the place had been ablaze only a few hours before. Dirt and debris crunched under their feet as they approached the police tape.

"Freak and his spawn are here, Chief." they heard DI Sally Anderson call. Sherlock casually lifted the tape and let Ceridwen go through before ducking under himself. They passed Sally without giving her so much as a glance.

"Took you two long enough. This brings the total number of arsons to five and the deaths to twenty. There's got to be a pattern." Lestrade greeted them, looking tired. "I need anything you can give me."

"All of the buildings burnt so far were residential and full of people when they were set on fire. Obviously the arsonist is doing it for the kill." Sherlock commented. "Although it's curious...going by the smell of the air, this one was started with petrol. The others weren't. For some reason, our arsonist was in a hurry."

"Jake Hensley said the fire began in the first floor vacant flat." Ceridwen spoke up, eyes fixed on the wreckage.

"Of course. Come along, Ceridwen. We need to examine what's left." The detective took his daughter's arm and they headed into the rubble. It was still pretty warm and the stench was so thick in the air that they could taste it.

"This stuff is still too hot to move around with regularly gloved hands. I'm going to get some of those gloves from the fire brigade." the teenager told Sherlock after a few minutes of poking around and he nodded in approval. She jumped over a half collapsed wall in the shortest route back to the street. The consulting detective went back to scanning what was left of the vacant flat. Everything was charred black and covered in ash. However, after a few minutes, he caught sight of canister partially covered by a chunk of brick wall. He turned to call to Ceridwen and tell her to hurry up, but suddenly, a bullet tore clean through his torso and he found himself falling to the ground.

When Ceridwen heard the gunshot, everything seemed to go in slow motion. She turned in time to see Sherlock fall. A terrible cry to him ripped from her throat and she began to run to him, leaping over smoking rubble to get to him. The paramedics were still faster and they swarmed around the fallen man. The policemen caught her and held her back, telling her to stay back and let the paramedics do their job, but she resisted.

"NO! YOU IDIOTS! LET ME GO! THAT'S MY DAD! THAT'S MY DAD!" she screamed and the martial arts training Sherlock had given her kicked in. The two police officers holding her were not prepared to handle black belt karate and they were on the ground in seconds. She moved to push one of the paramedics out of the way, but she was stopped once again. This time it was Lestrade's arms around her.

"Ceridwen! Stop! There's nothing you can do!" he told Ceridwen and she was about to flip him when it registered in her brain who he was. She had no desire to harm him and so she stopped resisting. The look of devastation on the seventeen year old's face was one Lestrade had seen her wear before, only this time, tears streamed freely from her eyes.

**A/N: ...and now I torture you with a bit of a cliffhanger. I'm sorry if I'm kicking your feels around like a ball, but that's what happens when you read angst fic. In any case, I hope you are properly entertained. Please let me know what you think. ~T.Z.**


	17. Flying Solo

**A/N: Hey there! I can't believe how quickly I was able to crank this out. Your reviews really inspired me. Thanks so much! I didn't want to torture you with a cliffhanger for very long. I'm not like Moffat. Anyway, please enjoy and let me know what you think.**

**WARNING: This chapter contains a lot of guns.**

Chapter 17: Flying Solo

To Ceridwen, it seemed entirely unfair the amount of time she had spent at St. Bart's through the course of her life. Sometimes it felt more like home than home. At the moment, it was giving her a strong sense of deja vu. She was sitting next to Greg Lestrade, his coat around her shoulders, while she stared off into space. A feeling of dread crept through her like poison as she considered the possibility that her father might die. She couldn't handle it. If that happened, she would certainly relapse and have a nervous breakdown. Pure rage sparked inside her mind. She would find the person who had shot her father and have her revenge.

"Calm down, CJ." she heard a familiar voice say. It then occurred to her that Dean was present and had noticed the clenching of her hands into fists. She vaguely remembered being told earlier that the Watsons were there because Mary was getting treatment. She did not unclench her fists. "CJ, your dad'll pull through. The doctor said he's stabilized." Dean reassured her, placing a hand on her arm. Her blue eyes suddenly snapped to Lestrade.

"Do you know who shot him?" she inquired in a low growl.

"No, we don't, but I've got people on it." the chief inspector replied with a sigh. "Right now, the most important thing is that Sherlock's going to make it. I'm placing security on him while he recovers."

"Thank you."

"Anything I can do." The silver haired man gave Ceridwen a small smile.

* * *

It was several days before anyone was allowed to see Sherlock. In the mean time, another block of flats was burnt down, Ceridwen spent Christmas without her father, and Lestrade had forbidden her from going to the crime scene, saying that the last thing he wanted was to see her get shot too. Her friends agreed with this decision and it frustrated her to no end.

When she finally got to visit her father, she found that he was of a similar opinion.

"I've told Greg to take you off the case. I cannot protect you if I'm hospitalized." he told her firmly.

"Dad, I can do this on my own. I remember everything I've learned from watching you all these years." she rebutted. The chance to prove herself was staring her in the face and she wasn't about to just let it pass by.

"Ceridwen, I'm not questioning your ability to solve the case. I'm measuring the danger to your life and deciding that it's a risk I'd rather not take."

"But-"

"You're still a child! And you don't even know how to use a gun! Without me there, you would be incredibly vulnerable." Sherlock interjected before pressing the pain killer button in his hand.

"Then I'll ask John to teach me! You can't protect me forever!" The teenager was torn by the stress she was causing her father and the searing desire for revenge on the person who had harmed him. "Let me be your eyes and ears in this case! Please! I can do it!" she pleaded. For what seemed like an eternity, Sherlock did not respond, likely contemplating his daughter's words. She waited anxiously for his verdict. "John will teach you, but you must have someone you trust beside you at all times. The criminal has poor aim and will not attempt to shoot you if you are close to someone else." he finally said and excitement flashed across Ceridwen's eyes.

"Thank you! I'll make you proud! I promise!"

"Be careful." the man warned and she smiled, reaching out and giving his hand a firm squeeze. It was her way of saying 'I love you, Dad' as like him, she was not the sort to come right out and say it. "You're going to ask Dean and Weston to be your guards, I presume?"

"Yes. In fact they already are. They came here with me."

"I would like to speak with them." Ceridwen's blue eyes narrowed at this. She knew exactly what Sherlock was up to.

"I'll not have you threatening my friends with living hell should anything happen to me." In that moment, the consulting detective was heavily reminded of Molly. She was there in Ceridwen's words and expression. It brought a smirk to his face.

"Very well. Keep me up to date on the case as best you can."

* * *

_ Most people would agree that a pathology lab was not the best place for a three year old. However, Doctor Molly Holmes was not most people. She had decided that rather than burden her friends with her child (they were all at work anyway), she would bring the little girl with her to her own workplace. It wasn't as hazardous as one might think. As curious as little Ceridwen was about all the equipment and substances, she was content to curl up under the table and practice her reading. Sometimes, she would get bored of what was in the book she was holding and try to pronounce the words on labels all over the lab. Molly thought it was absolutely adorable to hear her daughter say 'isopropanol'._

_ The other reason Ceridwen was with Molly was that Sherlock was currently on a very risky case. If anything were to happen, the pathologist wanted to have their little girl right there, safe with her. If everything turned out alright, Molly expected to see her husband in a few hours and he would be able to take Ceridwen home and spend time with her. In all her years of knowing Sherlock, Molly had never expected to see the man take as much pleasure in teaching a small child as he did, particularly with one he had helped create. It was heartwarming._

_ She was shaken from her thoughts when a young man in a lab coat came in. She'd never seen him before. Perhaps he was one of the new interns._

_ "Hello. Can I help you, sir?" she asked in her usual friendly tone._

_ "Yes, I'm looking for Doctor Molly Holmes."_

_ "Oh, that's me. What can I do for you?" Suddenly, the man pulled a gun from the back of his waistband and pointed it at the pathologist._

_ "You can put your hands up, turn around, and stand against the wall." Molly wordlessly did as she was told, moving slowly so as not to startle the intruder. He began to take his sweet time patting her down for weapons and laughed when she shivered at his touch. Then before he could react, she spun around and knocked the pistol out of his hand. It skidded across the floor. He pushed Molly down and dove for the weapon. She sprang up and grabbed him around the middle to suplex him. He lay on the ground groaning as Molly picked up the gun and aimed it at him._

_ "You made a big mistake, young man. You're dealing with the wife of Sherlock Holmes. Don't think you can just come in my lab, especially when my little girl is present, and try something." All she got in reply was more groaning. "Ceridwen, dear, would you go to my bag and get me my phone, please?" she called and the raven haired child crawled out from under the table, toddled into her office and came back with a mobile. She handed it to her mother and watched the woman call Scotland Yard. "Hi, Greg. A man broke into the lab...yeah, we're fine, but I wouldn't say the intruder is...I suplexed him...it's where a woman grabs a man around the middle from behind and flips him backwards...no, he's not here...yes, thank you, please hurry." With that, she hung up. A moment later, Sherlock came bursting through the doors, pistol in hand._

_ "DON'T MOVE!" Then he caught sight of the man lying on the ground with Molly pointing a gun at him. "Oh. I, um...so I see you've got this handled...nice..." The pathologist gave him a reassuring smile and he put away his own weapon._

_ "Dad!" a little voice called and the detective suddenly found a familiar three year old hugging his leg._

_ "Hello, Ceridwen. Are you alright?" he greeted her, stooping down to pick her up._

_ "Yeah. Mum stopped the bad man."_

_ "That's good." He set her down on a clear spot on the table and stroked her hair a few times. "Stay right here, okay? Don't touch anything."_

_ "Okay, Dad."_

_ "Good girl." Ceridwen then watched in fascination as her father went over and grabbed the intruder by the collar to haul him up. When the man screamed in pain, he paused. "Ah, broken spine. Molly, you can put the gun down now." The woman nodded and set it on the counter. Sherlock pulled the man into a chair and proceeded to duct tape him to it. Once he was done, he embraced his wife. "They said they were going to take you. I'm glad to see that didn't work out so well for them. You really messed their bloke up."_

_ "Well, I wasn't going to go easy on him with Ceridwen in danger."_

_ "John says I like it when you're being badass."_

_ "Is he right?"_

_ "Oh, yes, I should think so." For the next five minutes, Ceridwen was witness to her parents snogging._

_ "Hi, Greg!" they eventually heard her say excitedly followed by someone clearing his throat. Sherlock and Molly broke apart, both looking slightly embarrassed, though the consulting detective recovered quickly._

_ "Ahem, yes, the perpetrator is over there." he said, gesturing to the badly injuring man taped to the chair._

* * *

Feeling the kick from firing the pistol in her hand, Ceridwen finally fully realized why her father had forbidden her from learning this for so long. Up until a few years ago, she would have been too physically weak to handle it. In fact, if she had tried it when she was ten, she probably would have broken her arm the first time. Even now, she wasn't entirely sure she was ready. She had difficulty keeping her arms steady as she fired and the only thing that had kept her from leaping back in fright the first time she pulled the trigger was the fact that John Watson stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders to keep her still.

"Take a deep breath and try not to be so tense." he told her. He had confidence that she could become a pretty good shot with practice. She just needed to get over the nervousness the gun seemed to give her. Unfortunately, it would likely be rather difficult given her past experience with guns and her resulting dislike of them.

Ceridwen did as he suggested and fired again, this time coming very close to the center of the target.

"Good. I think you'll be ready if you ever need to use a handgun."

"Thank you." the teen replied as she handed him the weapon and removed her hearing protectors. "I'll be off now. Dean and Weston are waiting for me outside."

"Ceridwen," the blond doctor began, gently grabbing the girl's arm, "I don't think this should be your first time leading an investigation. This is a high profile case and the pressure on you is more than any person your age should be made to handle. You're my best friend's daughter and he was shot and almost killed. I don't want anything to happen to you too." The girl didn't know it, but it said in Sherlock's will that should he die before Ceridwen became legally an adult, John would be her guardian, not Mycroft. That fact had led the doctor to act more paternal to her than he otherwise would.

"What's your point? My dad has already allowed me to become his puppet in this case. I chose this. I can handle it." the young Holmes replied firmly.

"My point is that I'm going on this case with you. Don't try to object. I have full support from Mary, Greg, _and_ Sherlock." John shot back and Ceridwen froze, a look of astonishment on her face. "If you understand, then you realize just how much danger you could potentially be in." She nodded at this and he let go of her arm. The text alert noise of her phone went off and she glanced at the device.

"The canister surface analysis Dad requested is complete. I'm heading to Bart's lab now." the raven haired girl announced, turning and striding out the door. John followed to see his son and the young man's best friend waiting for them. They all took a silent cab ride to St. Bart's Hospital. The doctor had a feeling he was responsible for the awkward quietness of the group. How awkward would it be to be nineteen and still have your father acting like a chaperone? He was knocked from his thoughts when he noticed the manner in which Ceridwen chose to enter the lab. She flung the door open and swaggered in like she owned the place. _I've never seen her enter a room like that...no doubt about it...she's actually trying to emulate Sherlock..._ he thought.

"I SWEAR TO GOD, SHERLOCK HOLMES-" a male voice began to shout, but then stopped as its owner realized who was actually there. "Oh." There in the room stood a dark brown haired man in his mid thirties wearing a lab coat that had quite clearly had coffee spilt all over it from the mug in the man's hand when Ceridwen had so forcefully opened the door.

"Dr. Parton, I find it curious that you of all people should be unaware of the fact that my dad is currently upstairs recovering from a gunshot wound to the lower torso." the young woman commented with a quirked eyebrow, which only served to fluster the man further. Dr. Miles Parton was the latest in a series of pathologists over the past twelve years who had taken Molly's job at Bart's. There was yet to be one Sherlock deemed worthy of the position. He drove them all away, some sooner than others. The ones who lasted the longest tended to be incredibly stubborn people who only left when Sherlock had driven them sufficiently insane. John used to scold him about it, but gave up after a few years when he realized that in this way, his friend was still grieving for his wife.

"Oh, shut up, you little witch. I knew that. It's just the way you came in and the first thing I saw was those damn black curls."

"Did you also forget that my dad is a half foot taller than me and unlike him, I am female and very young? In any case, how could you have mistaken me simply from my hair? Obviously my dad's is much shorter and has two streaks of silver sprouting from the front of the part." Dr. Parton gaped angrily at Ceridwen for these words. His silence prompted her to add. "I submit that you are plainly an imbecile." She had a nasty habit of picking up on Sherlock's distain for these lesser pathologists and perpetuating his treatment of them.

"What do you want?" the man demanded after letting out an annoyed growl. Ceridwen rolled her eyes at this.

"You know very well what I want. The analysis print out, _please_."

"Yeah, yeah." he grumbled, shuffling over to his desk. "What's with the royal guard?"

"Has to do with the case." Ceridwen responded tersely and Dr. Parton thrusted the papers at her.

"Whatever. Just take this and get out of my face."

"With pleasure." she sneered, snatching the documents and turning swiftly on her heel to march out the door. The others followed quickly without a word. "I'm going upstairs and handing these off to my dad for examination. John, I got a text from Scotland Yard saying they found something in the rubble of the latest arson that could prove to be very interesting. Would you mind swinging by to look into it?" The doctor nodded at this.

"I'm on it. Be careful. Boys, keep her safe." With that, he headed off in the direction of the exit. The three continued down the hallway toward the lift, passing a few employees on the way who gave them odd looks.

"Hey, I need the loo, I'll catch up with you." Dean spoke up as they waited for the lift after exchanging a glance with Weston.

"Alright. Just try not to take long. The last thing any of us need is the worry that you have been kidnapped or killed." Ceridwen replied before stepping into the lift with the younger Lestrade brother.

"Got it." Dean smiled and laughed and then the door closed. Ceridwen and Weston were the only ones there. The dark haired young man had inexplicably grown quite visibly nervous all of the sudden and she frowned.

"Hey, so, I was wondering...y-you know how St. Bart's has a charity ball every year on New Years Day? I...er...would you...would you maybe like to go...with me?" he asked, barely able to get the words out. His chocolate brown eyes were locked onto her face and he waited for her response with baited breath as if his life depended on what she said.

"What? No, of course not. Don't be ridiculous. You know perfectly well I don't attend those sorts of events. I doubt that anyone, certainly not you, could persuade me to change that." Ceridwen returned flatly, a disinterested expression on her face. Weston, however, was quite devastated. A look of deep hurt came across his features mixed with traces of anger. Sadly, the girl went on, unaware of what she was doing. "Furthermore, you are aware that this case is likely to carry on through the new year and so unless the arsonist miraculously decides to turn himself in before New Years, it is logical to assume that I will be unavailable that evening. Therefore, I fail to see what possessed you to ask the question. Have you been sniffing Sharpies? I seem to recall you being more intelligent than this." This left Weston utterly speechless. When the lift doors opened to let people in, the young man stepped out. "What are you doing, Weston? That is the wrong floor."

"I should have known better. I'm sorry. I'll see you around, Ceridwen." he called back before the doors shut again, leaving Ceridwen confused and uncomfortable in a crowded lift. When she finally got off, she was greeted with a smiling Dean.

"Hey, CJ. I didn't take very long, so I got a little exercise on the stairs. Funny how I still beat you here." The smile dropped when he didn't catch sight of Weston. "Where's Weston?"

"He left."

"What did you say to him?" Dean demanded, his expression hardening.

"Excuse me?"

"He wouldn't have left you alone unless he couldn't stand being near you anymore. What did you say to him?"

"Nothing of importance. I see no reason for him to be that offended."

"Well, obviously you're wrong."

"_It's unimportant._" Ceridwen stressed before opening the door to her father's room and walking in. "Dad, I have the papers you requested." she announced.

"Ah, excellent!" Sherlock grinned upon seeing them enter, but this quickly faded. His piercing gaze flicked between the two young adults before he spoke again in a very serious tone. "Weston is not with you. Dean, you are clearly irritated at my daughter for something. Judging from the distance she is standing away from you, I can see she is aware of this. Would either of you care to tell me what's going on?"

"Apparently my decline of Weston's request for me to go to the charity ball with him was offensive. It's irrelevant to the case."

"Ah." Sherlock responded simply before turning his attention to the analysis in his hands. Slowly, a frown appeared on the detective's face.

"What is it?"

"These data are falsified."

"How can you tell?"

"Reports always have print out dates. This does not. Also, would you really trust Parton to keep these in a safe place?" the detective revealed, holding up the papers for the other two to see. He was, of course, quite correct. "Ceridwen, I think you should have accepted Weston's request." Said teenager blinked in puzzlement. "I'm sure you've noticed that each arson is getting progressively bigger in terms of building size and deaths. The only sort of person who would have been able to access the lab to place the false documents would have to be an employee." Realization dawned on Ceridwen's face.

"So our arsonist is a St. Bart's employee and that means he'll almost certainly be at the ball! Parton wouldn't have seen anyone who shouldn't logically be there! The perfect next step: a big event in a large hotel! Oh!" The teenager looked like she wanted to jump up and down in excitement. Sherlock grinned and let out a low chuckle.

"Hold up. She can't go with Weston. I don't think he'll be wanting to see her again for a while." Dean put in with a frown.

"I'll just go by myself."

"Um, no. It's pretty glaringly suspicious for someone like you to go to a ball alone."

"Hm, yes. Dean's quite right. That does present a bit of a problem for you." Sherlock said, steepling his hands under his chin. Dean's intelligence pleased him. He was very much John and Mary's son.

"Not really. I'll go with you, CJ."

"I thought you'd be going with what's-her-face...Dianne was it?"

"CJ, Diana and I broke up three months ago. Do you listen to anything I tell you?"

"I tune you out when you're boring."

"Figures."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Enough, children." Sherlock interrupted with a heavy sigh. "Ceridwen, you are to go to that ball with Dean, identify the arsonist, and have him arrested before he burns the place down. Understood?"

"Yes, Dad."

**A/N: So, what do you think? You go to see a variety of Ceridwen's flaws in action as well as some BAMF!Molly. The next chapter will focus on the charity ball. It'll will be fluff, comedy, angst, and thriller all in one. I do hope you're looking forward to it. If you are inclined, please review. It's always appreciated. ~T.Z.**


	18. Light the Night

**A/N: Hiya! It seems that once again, I've pumped out another chapter in only a few days. This one is a tad longer than most of the other ones and will probably take you for a bit of an emotional roller coaster ride. I hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think!**

Chapter 18: Light the Night

221B Baker Street was decidedly quiet and it owed in no small part to the fact that the only soul awake was Ceridwen Holmes, who lay perfectly still on the sofa in her emerald green satin pajamas and black dressing gown. That is, until she took her phone from her pocket to send a text to Mary Watson: _Going to charity ball. Do not own dress. Need help. -CH_. Since the age of eleven, Ceridwen had looked to Mary for any and all assistance with female problems. The woman had been all too happy to oblige, given that she didn't have a daughter of her own and the young Holmes had been without a mother since the day she turned five. At present, Ceridwen was in need of a dress as she had never owned one in her life and she had no idea how to go about getting one suited for her and her purposes. Make no mistake, she was excellent at judging other people's taste in clothing, but her own was another matter.

According to her father, she had not really inherited her mother's fashion sense, which he seemed somewhat grateful for. However, she had been told that upon hitting puberty, her tastes had morphed into something that could only be called eccentric. There were certainly flavors of Sherlock in her style, but she would do things like take an otherwise posh, businesswomanly outfit and add well worn combat boots. Mary said she sometimes chose things that were a bit too flashy or unusual. Hence the emerald green satin pajamas.

In short, Ceridwen did not trust herself to pick a dress that would not only be appropriate to the occasion, but would also not attract too much attention.

The teen's train of thought was interrupted when she caught sight of a bleary eyed nineteen year old shuffling into the sitting room. His sandy blond hair was going every which way and he was yawning.

"Any chance of some tea and toast?" he asked, scratching his head.

"Do I look like your mother, Dean?" she shot back indignantly, still displeased at her friend for agreeing to her father's request that he stay with her while he was in the hospital. Sherlock had even insisted that he borrow his bed instead of the sofa. She was sure it was punishment for lying to John about the text from The Yard. All she'd wanted was to get him out of her hair for awhile and free herself from his overbearing concern. Was that so terrible? Apparently it was heavily frowned upon in this establishment. In fact, Sherlock had given her a lengthy lecture via text about lying and the specific circumstances in which it was acceptable. He never lied to the people that mattered to him. Withheld information, yes, but lied, never. Only a select few people would know that it was because his own father had been a liar. He hated his father for many reasons, but the lying was at the top of the list. He didn't want to be his father's son and it irked him when Ceridwen lied more than he cared to say.

"No need to get snippy." Dean replied defensively. "I'll make tea and toast." He shuffled back into the kitchen and was unsurprised to find a pickled snake in a jar stored in the same cupboard as the bread.

"Hm, speaking of your mum, she's going to help me prepare for this whole inane 'ball' function. Therefore, your services as a bodyguard will be unnecessary today." Ceridwen called, making a dismissive gesture.

"Yeah, and speaking of this 'inane ball function', have you apologized to Weston yet?" The young woman frowned at this, genuinely confused.

"For what?"

"Dear God, are you really that oblivious? You hurt him, CJ. Really badly." Dean had returned to the sitting room and was now glaring at Ceridwen. She continued to be baffled.

"How? I was completely honest with him." The young blond man gaped at her. She took this as a prompt to continue listing things she hadn't done. "I haven't stolen or broken anything of his."

"Oh, but you have. You have big time."

"I don't understand." At this, Dean threw his arms up in frustration.

"Oh my God! It's so bloody simple!" he shouted at the ceiling. "Did you even listen to Weston's Christmas gift?!"

"No, I forgot about it." She was about to add "one's dad being shot tends to distract", but Dean stopped her.

"Christ, woman!" he exclaimed. "You know what, don't talk to me again until you've listened to every song on that memory stick." With that, he turned around and marched back into the kitchen, leaving Ceridwen not much more enlightened than before and significantly more perplexed. Seeing that she'd unintentionally made Dean very cross and thus squashed her chances of him making her breakfast, she decided that remaining in the sitting room was pointless and so hopped up from the sofa and headed up the stairs to her room. There, she grabbed her laptop and the accursed memory stick and flopped onto her bed. She loaded the songs and pressed play. For the next half hour, Ceridwen slowly became privy to what it was that she'd done so wrong. Lines like 'your brilliance is a blinding light, you're the sun in my wax winged flight' jumped out at her. So this was how she made him feel? It suddenly seemed clear as day that she'd taken and broken his heart and, boy, did it make her feel terrible. What was she supposed to do? She couldn't love him the way he clearly wanted her to. She'd closed that part of herself off permanently. The only end to romantic entanglements she'd witnessed was pain. That aside, she saw Weston in a strictly brotherly capacity.

An all too familiar ache started up in her stomach and the more she thought about this conundrum, the more frustrated she got with her own failure. Remembering what the specialists had told her to do when this happened, she promptly shut her laptop and went back downstairs to play at the piano. Beethoven seemed oddly appropriate. The music drew Dean out of the kitchen wearing an intrigued expression.

"CJ? Are you alright?" he asked. Ceridwen continued to pound away at the keys, ignoring him. Her eyes were closed and there was a pained look on her face. "Look, I'm sorry for snapping at you. I know it's hard for you to understand social conventions sometimes." All of the sudden, she stopped playing right in the middle of a phrase.

"What should I have said?" Her eyes were still closed.

"Well," he began, sliding onto the bench next to his friend. "That depends on how you feel about Weston."

"If...I'm understanding all of this correctly...I...cannot reciprocate...but...I do not wish to hurt him..." she replied slowly. Dean gave her a look of sympathy and placed his hand on her shoulder.

"You should have just told him you aren't interested." he said to her gently. The pale teen's eyes snapped open and Dean found himself being glared at by those striking blue eyes.

"That is precisely what I already did!" she hissed, shrugging his hand off her shoulder.

"No, no, you misunderstand. I meant that you...you didn't put it in the right words." It seemed that he was faulty in wording as well, because Ceridwen continued to glare at him. Dean was about to attempt to explain further when his friend's phone chimed. She took a deep breath and looked at the text she had received.

"Your mother will be here in a few minutes to take me dress hunting. Do what you like, but don't touch anything on the kitchen table and stay out of my room."

"Who says I'm not coming with you?" Dean answered with a grin and Ceridwen raised her eyebrows.

"Whatever for?"

"You know, spend time with you and Mum, offer my opinion as a male..."

"And?" She was sure there was something he was omitting. He nervously smoothed his shirt before responding.

"...and if you've been shopping with my mum before, you know she's going to pull out the all the stops for you. Honestly, she considers you a daughter who just happens to live with a different dad. You've heard what she calls your dad, yeah? 'My husband's husband'. God, my mum is weird sometimes. Anyway, someone needs to reel her in before she gets carried away." he explained and Ceridwen rolled her eyes before giving him a small smile.

* * *

In the morning, the three dropped by a few shops, but none of them had anything Ceridwen liked. Mary took them to lunch at a chip shop. It reminded the raven haired girl of when she was little and hung out with Dean on Saturdays and Mary would take them places sometimes if she wasn't too busy grading her students' work. Somehow, she looked upon those memories with more favor than the ones she had of running around Scotland Yard with the Lestrade brothers, frequently sneaking into Anderson's cubical to pull some prank. This was probably because fooling around in a building full of police officers tended to have repercussions when one was caught. She and Dean never got into trouble as long as they were supervised.

It was a good thing they were currently supervised, because Ceridwen very badly wanted to go in the antiques shop they passed after lunch and deduce the hell out of everything in there. Dress hunting was boring.

"Come along, dear." Mary called when she caught Ceridwen pause outside the shop, staring in the window. "There's a rather posh clothing store up the street. Though we're using Sherlock's card, so I suppose that won't be a problem." Sherlock had insisted, upon finding out what they were up to, that since Ceridwen was his daughter and this was for a case, they would use his money. That meant she could get whatever dress she wanted because her father's bank account could buy a chateau in Monaco and more.

"Coming..." It took Ceridwen a moment to tear her eyes away from the treasure trove that was the antiques shop, but eventually, she was on her way to yet another clothing store. It was an unexpectedly large place and they spent the whole afternoon there. Every so often, they'd find something Ceridwen was willing to try on and Mary being Mary, thought it only fair that Sherlock be allowed to see what his money might be buying, so she took pictures of these dresses and sent them to him. At one point, she sent him a picture of his daughter in a chic white dress. He fired back a text immediately saying that under no circumstances did he ever want to see Ceridwen in that thing again. When he was questioned, he answered only that someone he was not overly fond of owned an outfit very much like it. It didn't help that his daughter held a slight resemblance to that woman. He did not want her to remind him of Irene Adler for many many reasons, though at the top of the list were 'would be insult to Molly's memory' and 'do not want images of daughter as dominatrix in brain'.

Eventually, he put the Dad Stamp of Approval on a long, dark red number that neither made Ceridwen look too childish, nor too..._womanly_ (as he put it). With that taken care of, the teenage girl dragged her best friend and his mother to the antiques shop for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

Neil Lestrade did not, by any means, wish to be where he currently was. It wasn't that he disliked music and dancing, it was that he had been forced to come to this charity ball by a certain Leland Holmes. He was her unwilling date. He had been quite content to spend his New Years in his flat alone, playing video games, but no, that black car just _had_ to show up outside his building and ruin it.

The twenty two year old was aware that his younger brother was about, probably sulking in a corner somewhere given what he'd heard had happened between the poor boy and his oblivious crush. Neil bore no ill will towards Ceridwen for what she'd said. The only person at fault was Weston himself. What had he expected? He saw roses, but only the petals and none of the thorns.

The elder brother was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard Leland talking snidely to someone and could hardly believe it when he saw who it was.

"I see, dear cousin, that you have my friend under your thumb."

"Nonsense, Neil chose to come here with me."

"Chose between what? This or an interrogation room?" Ceridwen sneered. Neil didn't know whether to be pleased or horrified at her presence. On the one hand, she looked lovely and seemed to be trying to get him out of his metaphorical handcuffs, but on the other, what if Weston saw her? On Dean Watson's arm, no less?

"...and that dress really does nothing for your minimal assets. Mostly because they're so minimal. Additionally, those flats make you look like a thirteen year old. You should have worn heels." The two had moved on to going at each other's appearance now. Dean and Neil said nothing, not wanting to get in the line of fire.

"Heels are a death trap. I never wear them. Your own are frankly ridiculous and by the way, you're showing enough skin to give people the wrong idea as to what your profession is." Both men gaped at Ceridwen, unable to believe she'd, in so many words, said that her cousin looked like a hooker. Leland's expression remained level, however.

"Neil, I grow tired of my dear cousin's barbs. Dance with me." She said it without looking at him. That is, until he didn't respond. She turned to give him a smile that quite clearly meant 'dance with me or I'll expose every one of your dirty little secrets'. Without hesitation, he jumped up from his seat, grabbed her hand, and led her to the dance floor. This left Ceridwen and Dean to sit at the table the other two had once occupied.

"Leland can be very persuasive, but I've never known her to try to achieve her goals through seduction." Ceridwen commented, sounding mildly amused. "She must genuinely be interested in him."

"What...? Your cousin is trying to seduce Neil?!"

"Obviously." Ceridwen drawled. She was about to knock her friend's intelligence, but spotted someone only a few tables away staring at her, someone she had hoped not to see that night. Words failed her as she noticed Weston's brown eyes flick between her and Dean as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Then she saw who was sitting next to him and she suddenly felt as if she might be sick. It was Annie Anderson.

"CJ, are you alright? You look- oh." Dean saw it now too and he understood.

"Dean, earlier, when we first arrived, you kept glancing at the dance floor. You clearly want to dance with me. I'd like to grant that wish now." She rattled off a deduction, trying desperately to suppress her emotions.

"I don't think that'd be such a great idea at the mo-"

"Please." the raven haired girl interrupted rather forcefully. She wanted a distraction, anything that would tear her away from this situation and allow her to refocus. Dean noticed she was gripping his sleeve tight enough to permanently wrinkle the fabric and he swallowed hard. He had to make a decision, a choice between his two friends. "Please." Ceridwen repeated, more softly this time. Another glance at Annie sealed the deal.

"Alright. Come on." Dean took Ceridwen's hand and led her to the dance floor. After a few minutes of gliding around to the beat of the music, the young Holmes seem to come to her senses.

"Now I can get a better look at the guests and find the arsonist among them." She was back on the case. Good.

"How will you know when you see him?"

"He'll be twitchy. His eyes will linger on the candles. He won't have come with a date, but he'll try to blend in by cutting in on other people."

"And when will he sneak off to start his fire?"

"Probably when the place gets crowded and nearly everyone is dancing."

"You mean like it is now?

"Y- Oh, dammit!" Seeing that Dean was right, Ceridwen sprung into action, running off, weaving her way between the other guests toward the exit. Her blond friend followed right behind as he was still holding her hand. "He'll start it first in the boiler room in the basement and then he'll supplement with more rooms on the first floor. If we're not too late, we can get down to basement and stop him. The lift will require a key for that level, but I can pop open the box and wire us in." she spoke rapidly as they sprinted down the red carpeted hallways of the hotel.

"I didn't know you could do electrical work."

"I got bored one afternoon." Dean was entirely unsurprised by this. "Lift!" Ceridwen called, pointing to the metal doors at the end of the hallway they'd just turned down. They rushed up to it and the girl urgently pressed the button. A moment later, the doors opened and they were surprised to see Miles Parton step out.

"Ms. Holmes? What the hell are you doing here?"

"Case. Get out of the way. Hundreds of lives at stake." she replied curtly before attempting to push past him, but he grabbed her around the shoulders and pulled out a pistol to press the barrel to her head.

"I think not." he hissed. The scent of smoke reached their noses and Ceridwen's eyes widened in terror.

"CJ!"

"Dean, run. Run and warn everyone."

"I wouldn't do that if you don't want me to blow Ms. Holmes' brains out." Dr. Parton threatened, pressing his gun harder to Ceridwen's temple and causing her to wince.

"Okay...okay...what do you want?" Though panic flowed through Dean's veins like electric current, he kept his head and his voice was steady.

"Don't be an idiot! He'll kill me, but he's a bad shot and you'll be able to get away! Don't trade hundreds of lives for the uncertainty of one!" Ceridwen protested, but her friend's mind was already made up.

"I'm not leaving you. You're my friend and I promised your dad I wouldn't let anything happen to you."

"Oh, isn't that sweet." Parton sneered. "But she's right, you know. Like always. You'd also be interested to know that the man to whom you made that chivalrous promise was poisoned about an hour ago. He should be dead by now." At this, Ceridwen's eyes glazed over and she grew perfectly still.

"Dean, run. Do it now. I'm begging you." she told him flatly, now completely ready to sacrifice herself. Dean didn't move an inch. "What the hell are you doing?! RUN!" Parton let out a laugh.

"Dear girl, I don't think Mr. Watson is going to listen to you. He's far too brave for that. And by brave I mean stupid." he jibed. "I want you both in there." he gestured to the janitor's closet a few feet away. Dean slowly backed into the room and Parton pushed Ceridwen in after him before shutting and locking the door behind them.

"You complete blithering idiot!" the female shrieked as she flicked the light on. "Now we're all going to die because you couldn't bear to break a promise to a dead man! Stupid, stupid, STUPID!" Before Dean could reply, she spoke again. "That's an old fashioned lock. I need two small pieces of wire. Oh! Wait, I've got it!" She pulled the one and only pin in her hair out and proceeded to try her luck at picking the lock. After a moment, the hairpin broke. "Dammit!" She began looking frantically about the tiny room for anything that could work as a lock pick. The air was getting hazy and the smell of smoke was thick. "If I don't find something quick, we'll be asphyxiated in a few minutes. Help me look." she told Dean before coughing.

"Wait, will my tiepin work?"

"Let's try it." He handed her his tiepin and after a moment of her twiddling with it, they heard a click and flung the door open. They were greeted with an even thicker haze of smoke and they coughed, though Ceridwen sounded much worse. They could hear screaming and the heat meant the fire was closing in on them. "There's a map of the building by the lift. I need a look at it so we can get people out of here."

"Alright, come on." They dashed across the hall and for a few moments, Ceridwen scanned the map before nodding and pulling Dean off in the direction of the ballroom.

"We've got to direct everyone to the fire escape." she told him as they burst through the ballroom doors. "EVERYONE! PLEASE KEEP CALM AND FOLLOW US!" she shouted and in seconds, the crowd was rushing toward them. They began running to the other side of the building, guiding a sea of people behind them. As soon as they got to the windows, she and Dean and many others were sliding them open. "Dean, get out and help the survivors! I'm going to make sure as many people make it out as possible!" Ceridwen called and before the blond could protest, she was off. Spotting two people who had fallen in their rush to get out, she hurried to them and pulled them up. It was Annie and Weston. She pushed them on before they could say anything. Nearby, an eleven year old girl tripped, but before she could even hit the ground, Ceridwen caught her and set her running again.

Flames could now be seen spreading rapidly down the corridor. Time was running out and so was the air. Ceridwen couldn't seem to stop coughing. She began making her way back to the fire escape, but she passed out.

* * *

Striking blue eyes stared in rapt attention at the television in their owner's hospital room. He was watching live news coverage of the latest arson. On screen was a young man he knew very well, shouting that his best friend was still inside the building. Firemen were working frantically to put out the fire, but with little success. Then there came delighted shouting from the crowd and the camera zoomed in on a fireman climbing out of a window and onto a ladder with a body slung over his shoulder. It was a pale, thin, dark haired young woman in a red dress.

"That's the lady who saved me!" a young girl in her mother's arms called out. When the fireman brought the body down to the ground, a hush came over the crowd as paramedics rushed in. The reporter started speaking again, but the man in the hospital bed paid her no mind until he heard a verdict on the body's condition.

"I just heard them announce that the young woman we saw them carry out of there a moment ago is alive. Many of the people here are saying she and friend of hers are responsible for the large number of survivors..."

Sherlock Holmes relaxed at this news. He unclenched his fists and his eyes wandered away from the television screen. He wanted to sleep. Worrying was exhausting.

**A/N: So, how'd that turn out? The danger has not passed, despite what you may think. I'd love to hear any guesses you might have as to why that might be. All feedback is welcomed and cherished. Thank you for your support! ~T.Z.**


	19. Self-Proclaimed Child Prodigy

**A/N: Hey there! I'm really sorry it took so long to get this chapter uploaded, but life isn't being nice to me and I'm balancing this with two other WIP fics. Unfortunately, I'm rewarding your long wait with a transition chapter that I feel nervous about in terms of quality and which has no flashback sequence (I know you guys love those). Still, I hope you enjoy it.**

Chapter 19: Self-Proclaimed Child Prodigy

The stinging wet and cold of rain on Ceridwen Holmes' face awoke her. She was lying on a stretcher by an ambulance. It took her a moment to remember what had happened, but when she did, she quickly sat up to see the night still lit by the blaze of the hotel. It occurred to her that a oxygen mask was strapped to her face and she was breathing heavily, the terror of a near death experience still fresh in her mind. Even now, adrenaline was still affecting her, making her feel like she was on fire from the inside out. Not even the light rain could cool her off, yet her dress was soaked. Paramedics rushed about, trying to get her to lie down so they could safely load her into the ambulance, but she wasn't having it. She wanted up. She had to find Dean, the Lestrade brothers, and her cousin. She had to make sure they had made it.

"I'm fine! Let me go!" Ceridwen snapped at the paramedics after ripping the mask from her face and jumping off the stretcher.

"Alright, but please stay here for a little while so we can be certain of your wellbeing." one of them replied calmly, letting her go. Leland, Neil, and Dean came running up to her. Her cousin seemed to have acquired a large, black umbrella and quickly handed it off to Neil so that she could wrap her arms tightly around the petite teenager. This surprised not only the men, but Ceridwen as well.

"Er...what are you doing, Leland?" she asked over the auburn haired woman's shoulder, rigid with shock.

"Now is not the time to be cheeky." the twenty three year old shot back, though without the edge she usually had when speaking to Ceridwen. "I was concerned that you would not survive. You are my cousin, after all." The younger woman was struck by the amount of sentimentality in those words. It was interesting, but it enhanced the awkwardness of their hug and in moments, they stepped away from each other. Leland turned at the sound of a car horn and through the dark and rain, she could see a black car waiting. "Anthea's here. Come, I'll take you to St. Bartholomew's Hospital to see your father."

"Oh, um, I can't go with you. I'm sorry. The paramedics told me to wait around for a bit so they can make sure I'm alright." It was a legitimate excuse, though Ceridwen only made it because she would rather sit in the rain than face her father's corpse at the hospital right now. "Dean, don't wait for me. I'm sure my dear cousin wouldn't mind taking you home and I know your mum and dad must be worried sick." At this, the blond seemed quite reluctant at first, but then he nodded and followed Leland and Neil to the black car.

Suddenly, Ceridwen was alone. Granted, there was still plenty going on around her. She vaguely registered the paramedics rushing to the aid of a victim who had been badly burned. The flames were dying down and so the light in the area was dimming.

"Excuse me, ma'am. I need to check your breathing." a male voice came from behind her and a hand took hold of her arm. She spun around and after a second, she realized it was Dr. Parton disguised as a paramedic. He started to draw his gun, but the adrenaline in Ceridwen's system that had been ebbing away flared back and she grabbed his wrist, twisting it so that he'd drop the weapon. He tore his arm from her and dove for the pistol, but she kicked him over. Once he saw her take hold of the gun, he got to his feet and bolted as quickly as he could. However, she shot him in the shoulder and the leg before he could get very far. The altercation rapidly drew the police to the scene, though it had all seemed to go very slowly to Ceridwen.

"Give me the gun, Ceridwen...come on...it's alright now..." The fire in her veins began to leave and she realized that she was still aiming at Miles Parton, who was lying on the ground, being arrested. Greg Lestrade was the one who had spoken to her. He was prying the pistol out of her grip and once this occurred to her, she let go, but rage and pain and desire for revenge still plagued her.

"He killed my dad! He burned all those people!" Ceridwen cried as the chief inspector held fast to her arms, preventing her from doing anything rash.

"Calm down! What are you talking about!? I spoke to John on my way here. He said Sherlock's fine." This caused the young Holmes to become completely still, her eyes wide with shock. Lestrade's phone chimed, breaking the silence between them. He looked at it and gave a small smile. "Your dad's badgering me to get you out of the rain and bring you to Bart's. Come on then." With his arm around her shoulders, Lestrade guided her to his car. Ceridwen didn't say anything during the drive to the hospital. She looked exhausted and her skin appeared clammy from the cold and wet. At Bart's, they gave her a large towel which she wrapped around herself like a blanket. The moment she entered her father's hospital room, she found herself face to face with John Watson, who drew her away from Greg's side and into his arms.

"Thank God you're alive. You look a terrible mess but you're alive and that's what's important." he told her softly. "This is a hug on behalf of your dad because even though he was very worried about you, he'll never admit it."

"I was not! I always knew she'd pull through one way or another." a pleasantly familiar baritone called from behind John. The doctor stepped aside so that Ceridwen could see the consulting detective sitting up in the bed, still very much not dead. Sherlock could now see her clearly as well and a deep frown came across his face. He noticed how badly she was shaking and she looked ill. Without warning, she cast off her towel-come-blanket and practically stumbled over to him to throw her arms around him. She clung to him as if she were afraid he'd suddenly vanish and sobbed into his shoulder. Surprise became quite evident on Sherlock's face at this. Ceridwen only cried like this when she had been traumatized in such a way that it disrupted her control of her emotions.

"She seemed to think that Miles Parton had murdered you. She shot and wounded him after he tried to kill her. She might have killed him too if I hadn't taken the gun from her." Lestrade explained after seeing Sherlock's expression. "She's in a really bad way."

"I can see that." Sherlock snapped as he rubbed his daughter's back soothingly. Her sobs died away, but she did not move from her position. "Parton did attempt to poison me, but he's an idiot and I could easily tell that there was something off about my tea when I smelt it." He looked at John when he spoke, but his words were for mainly Ceridwen's benefit. "Why don't you go home, clean yourself up, and get some rest, Ceridwen? You can see that I am unharmed and there is no longer anything pressing to feel anxious about." There was a genuine gentleness in the detective's voice the likes of which his two friends had never heard from him before. Going through so many ordeals with his daughter really had changed him. This Sherlock was very different from the cynical, uncaring young man they had known more than twenty years ago.

"Did...did I...do the right thing?" Ceridwen asked softly and a faint smile played on her father's lips.

"I am very proud of you." he whispered to her as if it was a deep secret between them and he didn't want John and Greg to hear.

* * *

For a week afterwards, Ceridwen was ill and remained at home in her bed while Mrs. Hudson helped her recover. The press was desperate to get an interview from the young Holmes, but her father, upon returning from the hospital, deflected them with harsh comments. However, once she was well, she exhibited a different attitude towards the reporters.

"I shall give them what they want." she told Sherlock as she finished her breakfast one morning. He abruptly looked up from his microscope to stare at her in confusion. Everyone knew his attitude towards the press. He thought Ceridwen should avoid them like the plague.

"Don't. They'll twist everything you say. One interview won't satisfy them, either. They'll expect one every time you do something that ordinary people deem amazing and heroic." he warned and his scowl became one of confusion when Ceridwen smirked at him.

"You misunderstand my intentions, Dad. I plan to grant them the interview they so desire, but that is as far as I'll go in giving them what they want. I'm going to solve the problem they've made of themselves." the teenager responded, wearing a look of 'aren't I clever' as she washed her plate in the kitchen sink (carefully reaching around piles of dirty petri dishes with practiced ease).

"So you're going to accept their invitation and trash their dining room so they'll never invite you or your friends to a party again? Interesting. I sincerely hope you are successful. The press have been a nuisance to me for far too long." With that, he looked back at his microscope and an expression of self satisfaction.

The interview Ceridwen chose to accept was a television one, specifically a talk show. Her reasoning was that such a program was likely to have a far wider viewership than the other options. The young Holmes wanted her message to be seen and understood by as many people as possible. It didn't take long for the news to get out that she would be appearing on telly. The public seemed to see this as a huge deal and the tags #HolmesInterview, #Holmies (a play on 'homies' used in reference to her fans), and #ActualSuperheroCeridwenHolme s started trending on Twitter. The rest of the internet wasn't idle. A meme started on Tumblr that was somewhat reminiscent of the decades old 'Chuck Norris' meme. The teenager viewed these things with disdain. Did these people have nothing better to do with their lives? Still, she followed through on her promise of an interview and gave the media much more than they expected.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was not alone when he tuned in to watch his daughter give the media a piece of her mind. John, Mary, Dean, Greg, Neil, and Mrs. Hudson were also there, crowding around the television.

"I really hope she knows what she's doing." the landlady said, wearing a worried expression. "Those interviewers can be awfully rude sometimes."

"Ceridwen knows exactly what she's doing. Trust me." Sherlock responded.

"They'll never know what hit them." Dean put in with a smirk. Then the room fell silent as they heard the host on the telly speak.

"Please join me in welcoming our much anticipated guest tonight, the daughter of Britain's favorite detective and heroine to the victims of the Charity Ball Arson: Ceridwen Holmes!" Music began playing and the audience applauded enthusiastically as the young woman appeared, dressed in a stylish, black, woman's business suit. She gave the audience a sarcastically cheery smile before taking a seat on the sofa next to the host's desk. "It's really exciting to have you on, Ms. Holmes."

"So I gathered." she replied, still smiling. The host laughed.

"Now, ever since your father, Sherlock Holmes, rose to fame in the early 2010's, your family has avoided the media like the Black Death. Why have you decided to grant an interview after all these years?"

"A surprisingly good question." Ceridwen answered with raised eyebrows. Anyone who knew her would immediately recognize the hidden condescension in her words. "I'm here to show the world we're not afraid, even after what the papers did to my father, and tell it like it is. Everything the world knows about my family has come second hand. Now you can hear it straight from the horse's mouth, free of filters."

"I see. According to the blog of a family friend and colleague to your father, Dr. John Watson, you've had a bit of a rough life. Your mother died tragically in a traffic accident when you were five. Since then, your father has been trying to raise you on his own. At age ten you were kidnapped and tortured by a personal enemy to get to him. There's a rumor that the trauma from that experience is what led you to attempt to take your own life last year. Is that true?"

"That is not okay!" Dean burst out angrily. "That's personal!" Fortunately, Ceridwen handled it rather well.

"That's a highly watered down version of my personal issues and I can't see why it would interest you anyway, unless you're fishing for juicy tidbits for the tabloids. I, like most people, don't like to display my dirty laundry. I came here to answer your questions, but don't expect me to erase the line between private and public matters in the process." At this, the host seemed a little embarrassed and some of the audience erupted in applause.

"Yes, quite right. Moving on. You've helped your father solve quite a number of his cases in recent years, correct?"

"Oh yes."

"That's quite remarkable for someone as young as you."

"So I've been told. Everyone sees me as a child prodigy. I suppose I am, but from my perspective, it's normal. I grew up around exceptional human beings."

"Oh, that's sweet." Mary commented.

"You certainly did. And what's it like working with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson? Is crime fighting difficult to balance with school and social life?"

"Not at all. To put it simply, the way they work is exciting and is less a job, more of a lifestyle. Ordinary people can't possibly understand. Ordinary people focus on all the wrong things. You probably want to know if have a special someone and how my crime fighting ways effect the relationship if I do. You probably want to know where I want to go to uni or what my grandmother thinks of my choices. In my world, none of those things are of great importance." Ceridwen explained. The host seemed to be growing more and more uncomfortable by the minute.

"Wow, you sound pretty dedicated. Is that where you got the bravery and selflessness to do what you did in that fire?"

"That wasn't bravery. It would have been bravery if I was afraid, but I was not afraid. What I did was out of a sense of morality. I had a choice between saving myself and leaving hundreds of people to die or saving those people and possibly losing my own life. The right and logical answer was as clear as day."

"That's truly inspiring. How is it that you weren't scared? Most people would be in that situation."

"Aside from the fact that we already established that I am not most people, at the time, I felt I had nothing to lose and there was no point being scared anyway." The host let out a nervous laugh at this.

"Wow, she's really knocking this bloke down a few pegs." John said as he adjusted his position in his chair.

"You've started a bit of an internet phenomenon of your own because of your exploits. A lot of young people are pretty taken with you. For those viewers who don't know, they call themselves Holmies and some of them actually started an official group that does charity work, particularly for schools and victims of fires."

"Yes, I've heard of them. They're the only people doing anything useful with their interest in me. It's sad that they should be such a small percentage of my fan base."

"Do you have anything to say to them?"

"They are already good people. They just chose to organize in my name and I have nothing to say to that as long as they remain as they are."

"Well, it's been really nice to finally get to talk to you, Ms. Holmes. Do you have anything to add before we go?"

"Oh, he really shouldn't have asked that." Greg spoke up with a grimace.

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do. When the articles about this interview come out tomorrow, twisting my words and calling me names, I want it to be noted that those so called journalists are merely proving the point I came here to make: the media are broken and it is not worth my family's or anyone's time to speak with them. You'll only get answers from us when you start asking the right questions." As the host ended the show, Sherlock turned off the television.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say she was trying to start a revolution in the news industry." Neil piped up and the consulting detective smirked.

"She told them they're ugly and handed them a nice big mirror to prove it." he said, sounding quite amused.

**A/N: ...and there you have it. The next chapter will jump ahead roughly a year to Ceridwen starting uni and she will not being staying in London for that. She's going off to Oxford all on her own. Anyway, what do you think? I hope this long awaited update was not disappointing. ~T.Z.**


	20. Relapse

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait. Life has been extra unfair to me lately.**

**WARNING: This chapter contains implied self-harm and discussion of depression.**

Chapter 20: Relapse

Little more than one year after the Ceridwen Holmes' television interview that sparked a movement to change the ways of the British media, that teenager turned legal adult found herself sitting in the corner of a classroom at Oxford, scrawling the outline of a novel in her notebook as the professor covered a subject she already knew all about.

Recent months had been difficult and lonely for her. Mary Watson had finally passed away during the summer and she'd barely had time to grieve before she had to go away to uni. She left behind a distraught Dean, who had to pick up the pieces of his life while returning to University of London to continue his study of psychology. Her father and Mrs. Hudson were there for John, who was absolutely devastated. Ceridwen was all alone, though, and it didn't help matters that many of her peers at Oxford had come to dislike her and were rather open about it. She had no one to confide in and could feel the familiar black tentacles of depression creepy up from the depths of her mind. When she wasn't doing schoolwork, she did anything she could to distract herself from the empty feeling in her gut. Usually this involved writing or playing piano, but when that stopped working, she resorted physical exorcise. That meant anything from running around campus until she could hardly breath to beating the crap out of a punching bag.

Over their Skype calls, Sherlock didn't notice anything was wrong because she looked physically very healthy and she never let her words or tone betray her. He told her John and Dean were getting better, but they all missed her and 221B felt empty. She always told him to just wait until summer and she'd be home again.

Eventually, Ceridwen realized that the thing she craved about exorcise was the pain. It made her feel alive and blocked out depressing thoughts. That's when things turned around and the red lines started appearing on her arms, despite her promise to her father two years previous.

Her roommate, a political science major from Kent named Felicia, didn't have a clue. The two hated each other, but Felicia was almost always out somewhere and so there were rarely any problems. Ceridwen was allowed plenty of peace and quiet in which to sit in the bathroom and make more red lines on her skin. She had no desire to do like so many others and go out to experiment with substances and sex. She wanted isolation from those people and eventually, she stopped exorcising because of it. The weather was getting warm again, but she was staying inside and Felicia started calling her Gollum because of how her appearance rapidly changed. Ceridwen's already large blue eyes seemed to get bigger as she became even thinner and her skin was so pale, it was almost grey. At one point, she began losing the will to get out of bed in the morning and her school marks suffered.

Back in London, no one had heard from her in months and they grew worried. Sherlock tried several times to contact his daughter, but he never received a response. After conferring with John and Greg, they agreed that he and the doctor would take some time off and go visit Ceridwen.

Only a day after that, Ceridwen managed to drag herself to her evening maths class and found herself seated next to a young man with silky waves of golden hair atop his head. He was looking at her, but not like other students looked at her. There was no disgust or hatred or morbid curiosity in his gaze. He seemed...intrigued...and sympathetic.

"Hi. The name's Allen. Allen Cormick." he introduced himself, smiling and extending his hand for her to shake. She quirked an eyebrow at him, but shook his hand never the less.

"Ceridwen Holmes." she replied simply.

"You're that girl that's been in the news."

"So what if I am?"

"You handle those idiots really well. I couldn't do better myself." These words gave Ceridwen pause. Never had she heard someone compliment her quite like that. A strange feeling she'd never felt before sparked in her and she couldn't give it a name. All she knew was that this man was different.

"...Thank you, Mr. Cormick." she responded and for the first time in many months, the corners of her thin lips turned up just a little in a genuine smile. He returned the gesture with a nod and a grin. The raven haired young woman ran her gaze over his person and was stunned by how few dirty secrets could be deduced from his appearance. The worst thing that she could find was that he never had time to iron his clothes. After the class was over, she walked out with him. "I can see you like to swim and fence." she commented softly. Allen let out a low chuckle.

"Your doing that thing. Yeah, your right. Do you like to swim and fence too?"

"My dad taught me to fence, but I never got around to learning to swim, oddly enough." Ceridwen didn't know why she was talking to Allen, but it was easy somehow and it made life seem just a little bit less like it was crashing down around her.

"That's a shame. Would you like me to teach you?"

"I'd like that very much, if it's not too much trouble." Perhaps this was the lift she required to rise from her despair. Allen seemed like a very intelligent, kind man and to her, looking at him was like looking at a warm, radiant light on a cold night.

"No trouble at all, Ms. Holmes. I'm guessing you're a quick learner."

"Indeed." The two smiled at each other and it was the beginning of something Ceridwen never could have seen coming.

* * *

The young Holmes learned to swim in half an hour the following evening. The bathing suit forced her to reveal the marks on her body and Allen was surprisingly understanding when he saw them. All he said was that if she wanted to talk about it, she could, but he wasn't going to pressure her. After they were done swimming, the two sat alone at the edge of the pool and talked.

"You've probably heard about all the terrible things that have happened to me." Ceridwen began and Allen nodded. "The papers got a lot of it wrong and omitted the more gruesome details, but some of it's true. I keep coming in and out of these phases where I can't cope with the pain of those events. Recently, I suffered another tragedy that rendered my usual outlets ineffective."

"I can see that. To be honest, you look like you've been through hell." Allen commented.

"Then you understand why I accepted your offer to teach me to swim."

"Yes. Does your dad know?"

"No. I have to stop relying on him for help."

"Would you mind if I helped you?" This question caught Ceridwen by surprise. Allen had known her for only a day and yet was willing to do all these things for her.

"Why?" She got her answer when he lifted up one leg of his swim trunks to reveal self harm scars. Her eyes widened. How had she not seen the signs?

"I can understand, at least a little, how you must be feeling. You don't deserve to suffer alone." Allen answered before reaching out and gently taking hold of Ceridwen's wrists. His lips brushed softly against the marks on her left arm, sending a shockwave of sensations through her body. She gasped and drew away immediately. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you!" the young man said hastily.

"No, it's fine...I just...this is all so sudden. I need a moment to think." she replied, staring at some point to her left. After she closed her eyes, they sat in silence for a while as she sorted through her cottage and Allen waited patiently.

* * *

_It was only a month after Sherlock's return and John was already referring to his best friend's relationship with a certain pathologist as 'The Hooper-Holmes Item'. The doctor had been made aware that Sherlock had been having romantic relations with Molly for fast approaching two and a half years, yet it was all new and intriguing to him. He never thought he'd see the day the world's only consulting detective showed that sort of affection towards anyone. As far as John Watson was concerned, Molly Hooper was a miracle worker twice over. Once, for making it possible for Sherlock to still be alive. Twice, for thawing said detective's icy heart enough to get inside and make a home._

_ One afternoon, Sherlock and John sat in the lab at St. Bart's, working on a case for Gregson (Lestrade had recently married his second wife and they were still on their honeymoon), when a thought occurred to the blond. Molly had just left to get coffee, so he was able to voice it._

_ "Er, Sherlock, do you mind if I ask you something about you and Dr. Hooper?"_

_ "If I say I do mind, you'll ask anyway. Out with it, then." the dark haired man responded without even glancing up from his microscope._

_ "Have you considered making her Dr. Holmes?" This succeeded in grabbing Sherlock's attention. He looked up from his work to stare at his friend for a moment with narrowed eyes. John felt he was being asked to elaborate. "After all, you two have been seeing each other for a long time. Molly even moved in with you when you came back and both of you seem to be viewing this as a permanent arrangement, so why not seal the deal?" There was another moment of silence before Sherlock replied and when he did, John was surprised._

_ "It appears that you finally gained some noteworthy observation skills, doctor, as you seemed to have guessed my intentions. I appreciate the encouragement, but you need not be concerned. I have already purchased a ring." the pale man stated plainly. John gaped for a second before a grin spread across his face. He was just going to let his best friend believe he'd made a brilliant deduction and bask in the glory of knowing Sherlock intended to marry Molly and had already taken steps toward making it happen._

_ "That's great! How and when are you going to ask her?"_

_ "Very soon and in a manner I'm sure Molly would appreciate."_

_ "The lack of detail is worrying me. Are you sure Molly is going to like what you have planned?"_

_ "Dr. Hooper is an exceptional woman and as such deserves a much more creative and well thought out presentation than the things normal people usually come up with."_

_ "Sherlock, you're just making me more concerned." With a sigh, the detective launched into an explanation of what he had planned. John's grin returned as he listened, surprised and pleased by how thoughtful Sherlock was being. Then Sherlock stopped speaking abruptly and a moment later, it became clear why as Molly came through the lab doors holding three cups of coffee, hers and her partner's (Sherlock objected to the term 'boyfriend') in one hand and John's in the other. She smiled brightly at the two men and distributed the beverages._

_ "Molly, would you mind having a look at this sample. A second opinion would be useful." Sherlock said after taking a sip of his coffee. He stood and made room for Molly to access the microscope. She complied and came over to peer through the lens. What she saw was several plant structures arranged to spell out 'MARRY ME?' and she let out a gasp. Her cheeks turned bright red and when she turned back around she was greeted with the sight of Sherlock standing right next to her, holding out a small, black velvet box containing a silver ring adorned with a single sapphire. He looked at her with a mixture of nervousness (a Sherlock Holmes first) and impatience. It took Molly a moment to formulate a coherent response._

_ "Yes. A thousand times yes." she answered softly and a broad smile instantly graced the dark haired man's lips. Without further delay, he took the ring from its box and slid it onto the pathologist's slim finger. John Watson watched from the corner of the room, looking as if Christmas had come early._

* * *

"I see you have a friend." Sherlock commented as he, his daughter, and John Watson sat in a local coffee shop. The doctor's eyebrows raised and the faintest hint of pink appeared on Ceridwen's cheeks.

"His name is Allen Cormick. I met him in my maths class. He's the only person in miles who not only tolerates me, but can keep up with me." the dark haired young woman admitted and her father's eyes narrowed. She could almost see his mind process the information and end in one organized thought: 'potential boyfriend situation'.

"I would like to meet this boy."

"Dad, there's nothing wrong with him. You don't need to terrorize him."

"Who said anything was wrong with him? Don't I have the right to know who my daughter spends time with?"

"Sherlock, Ceridwen's a grown woman now. Her business is not inherently yours. I'm sure Mr. Cormick is a good bloke and I don't think your daughter would appreciate it if you performed a character assassination on him." John put in with a slightly amused expression on his face.

"I just want to be sure she doesn't possess the same ability to make horrible choices in men that Molly had before she began her relationship with me." Sherlock shot back testily. The doctor looked like he was going to say something about his best friend being another bad choice, but Ceridwen voiced her own reaction before he could open his mouth.

"_Dad_. He's _not_ my boyfriend."

"No, but you clearly fancy him."

"I do not. I have no romantic or sexual attraction to him. At the moment, I would qualify him only as an acquaintance." Ceridwen insisted with a frown before taking a sip of her now lukewarm tea.

"What have I told you about lying to me?"

"I am not lying, Dad. If I seem flustered by this topic, it's because I'd rather you not put him through the ringer. So alright, I have made a sort of friend. He's the only decent person I have to talk to, so I'd rather you didn't muck this up for me." With these words, the atmosphere became suddenly very serious. John realized this and the smirk instantly dropped from his face.

"John, I would like to talk to Ceridwen privately for a moment." Sherlock stated flatly without looking at the blond. John was about to object, but thought better of it, so he excused himself, leaving the Holmes' to deal with the tension between them. "You look as if you haven't seen sunlight in a month and your thin as a rail. Your physical reaction time is slower than usual. Any ordinary person would think you're on drugs, but you're obviously not. I know all the signs of that particular set of abuses. No, your abuse is much more intimate and lasting. Show me your arms." There was anger in Sherlock's voice now and he locked his gaze with his daughter's as if he was trying to see directly into her mind. She didn't speak or move at his words and simply stared blankly back at him. "Ceridwen Jacklyn Holmes, show me your arms. Now." Slowly, the young woman pushed up her sleeves to reveal the marks, fresh and old, on her skin. The anger in the detective's expression seemed to double. "Why would you keep this from me? Why would you break your promise? Answer me, Ceridwen." Sherlock demanded, but Ceridwen couldn't bring herself to speak. "If this has anything to do with Allen Cormick, he will pay dearly."

"No. He's not the problem. Not at all." the young woman answered softly.

"Then what has gone so terribly wrong to drive you to do this?"

"I feel so alone here. I've watched the slow, painful death of someone dear to me and coming here has been like being thrust out into the cold with not even a pair of pants to call my own. My usual coping methods stopped working and I fell to my last resort."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You have enough on your plate already without my problems to think about."

"Ceridwen, as your father, you are my primary concern. If you had said something, I would have dropped everything and come here immediately."

"I have to learn to deal with my issues alone."

"You have shown time and again that you are incapable of doing so. If you do not allow me to help you, then your problem will only get worst."

"What do you know of my problem, Dad?" Ceridwen sounded angry now herself. She wished Sherlock would drop this. Allen was already giving her all the help she needed and he seemed to understand far better than her father.

"I know a great deal more than you! I've been around for a half century. I've experienced many loses and pains you cannot begin to understand. Do you think I don't feel the absence of your mother every single day? Do you think I don't remember what it was like to watch John Watson break as I faked my death? Do think I've never felt so sick of the world that I did harmful things to myself? I was a young man once, Ceridwen, and just like you, I wanted nothing more than to find an escape from life. Would you like to know what happened to me? I got in so deep that I couldn't pick myself up. I didn't even want to and Mycroft couldn't make me. And then I met two people named Greg and Molly who dragged me to my feet and cared for me until I could stand on my own. I wouldn't have made it to twenty six if they hadn't helped me." Sherlock spoke firmly, a touch of anger still in his voice. "It's time for you to grow up and realize that life is painful and you have a choice between doing something useful and turning that pain into a powerful driving force, or you can languish in your misery until it takes you to a place from which you can never return. It should be clear that the former option is the correct course of action. It's what I want you to do. It's what your friends want you to do. It's what your mother would want you to do." Once he was through with his speech, Sherlock sat back in his seat and seemed to be analyzing Ceridwen's reaction.

The young woman stared back at him with a shocked expression on her face. Total silence fell between them and Ceridwen didn't seem to know how to respond. A single tear fell from the corner of her right eye and her bottom lip quivered when Sherlock reached over to brush it away. After a moment, she looked away and took a deep, staggering breath.

"I don't know what to do anymore." she admitted softly in a trembling voice. She rarely made such confessions, further proving the dire nature of her situation. Sherlock stroked her pale cheek with his thumb.

"You're going to be alright. I promise." And Sherlock Holmes always kept his promises.

**A/N: I swear there is a good reason for everything that just happened and I don't just enjoy making Ceridwen suffer. She'll get her happiness eventually, but until then, things are going to get worse than they've ever been (you'll see what I mean a few chapters down the road). On the up side, Sherlock's being a damn good father and you got introduced to a new and pivotal character who will come face to face with the world's only consulting detective in the next chapter. Any comments or questions you may have about Allen Cormick would be great to hear. ~T.Z.**


	21. Possession

**A/N: Hey there! Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! They really help me find the motivation to keep going with this story. Sad to say, the flashback in this one is quite short, but I think you'll still enjoy it.**

Chapter 21: Possession

As expected, Ceridwen came home to London for the summer. Everyone was delighted to see her, particularly Dean, who had been having quite a rough time over the past few months, much as she had. He rushed up to her as she stepped across the threshold at 221B and caused her to drop her bags by giving her a bear hug that lifted her off the ground and spun her around.

"Welcome home!" he exclaimed. Ceridwen made a slightly hysterical noise at his actions and he laughed, set her back on her feet. Quickly, he noticed the glare Mr. Holmes was giving him. "Right, sorry. I got a bit carried away. I'll get your bags for you." The young blond man bowed his head, blushing as he grabbed the luggage Ceridwen had dropped.

"It's alright, Dean. It's good to be home." The three trooped up the stairs to the flat. Stepping into the sitting room, Ceridwen inhaled deeply and smiled. The familiar scent of old wood, books, and coffee with undertones of formaldehyde was the smell of home.

"Ceridwen, there's a homecoming gift for you waiting in your room." Sherlock announced and without further delay, the young woman dashed up the stairs to her bedroom. The consulting detective couldn't help but smirk at this display of the remnants of the child in Ceridwen. Quite frankly, he was a little surprised that any of it was still there. She'd lost so much of her innocence so early in life that it was a wonder to him.

Up in her room, Ceridwen was frowning as she searched for her gift. Then out from under her bed came a gray striped kitten. It padded toward her and rubbed itself against her leg affectionately as if it instantly recognized her as its owner. A grin spread across her features and she picked the little fur ball up. It, or rather he, squirmed at first, but began to purr when Ceridwen stroked his pelt.

"John pointed me towards some research that suggested that victims of severe emotional trauma have been shown to benefit greatly from the companionship of a pet. You wouldn't remember Toby the Cat, as he died not long after you were born, but while you and he both lived in 221B, you got on very well. I was certain you are more fond of felines than canines and I can see that I was correct." Sherlock commented when his daughter came back into the sitting room with her kitten.

"Does he have a name?" she asked.

"I assumed you would prefer to bestow a name yourself."

"I shall have to think on it then." She set the kitten on the floor and he instantly hopped up onto the sofa where Dean was sitting. He crawled onto the young man's lap and mewed at him.

"Adorable little thing, isn't he?" Both Holmeses made an (identical) face at this comment. They had always had a disdain for labeling anything as adorable without the use of sarcasm. Dean rolled his before scratching the kitten behind the ears. "Dad said you and he had a dog named Gladstone for a little while."

"Yes. Unfortunately, he was already old when John got him, so his time with us was rather short. After the Baskerville case, we agreed that he wouldn't have a replacement." Sherlock explained.

The conversation ended when Ceridwen sat down at the piano and began to play. The feeling of the keys under her fingers was one she had missed greatly. The kitten seemed to delight in the music and abandoned Dean to curled up under the piano bench. Once Ceridwen was done with the piece she had been playing, the blond clapped politely and she smiled.

"I wrote that one recently." she said and Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. The tune had been soft and sweet and full of joy and that made him suspicious. Ceridwen hadn't played anything like that in a long while. "Oh, I should tell you Allen is planning to come to London to visit me in a few weeks. Please don't feel compelled to list all of his flaws when you meet him." Ah, there it was. That music existed because Ceridwen was clearly in love. There was no point in her denying it any longer. When Dean was gone, Sherlock planned to have a little talk with her about it.

"Allen?" Dean piped up with a frown.

"A bloke she fancies at Oxford." Sherlock answered.

"A _friend_ I met at Oxford." Ceridwen corrected, sending a death glare at her father. Dean suddenly looked a little pale. "I'm sure you'll get on really well, Dean. In addition to being highly intelligent, he's kind and considerate, _unlike some people_." She directed the last part of her statement at Sherlock, who was wearing an amused grin. Unfortunately, her words only served to disturb the blond man further. "Are you alright? You look ill?"

"No, I'm...I'm alright. I should be getting home now. It's lovely to see you again, CJ." With that, Dean left and the young woman watched him go with a confused expression.

"Right. Allen Cormick. You fancy him. Stop denying it." Sherlock spoke up once they heard the front door close. Ceridwen turned a rosy shade of pink and glowered at him.

"How many times-"

"Honestly, do you think I'm deaf and blind? You speak of him as if he's a saint. You get flushed when I mention him. You looked overly excited when you told us he would be coming to London. You specifically said he was doing so to see you. That indicates your hope that you are someone very special to him. You chose to say all of this after finishing a piece positively dripping with romance, a clear sign that you were thinking of Allen while you played." the detective interrupted his daughter to deduce. She gaped at him for a moment before replying.

"So what?"

"I look forward to meeting the boy." He only had two weeks to wait.

* * *

_Today, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had attended a wedding. No one who knew them would have thought it would be the detective and not the doctor who was the groom. Equally as astounding was that Molly Hooper (now Holmes), the quiet pathologist who used to let Sherlock boss her around, was the bride._

_ As the two men (both in suits- though still no tie on Sherlock) sat at a table at the reception, watching their friends and family dance and drinking expensive champagne, they reflected on how such an unforeseeable event like this had come to pass._

_ "Dear God. We're both married. __**Married**__, Sherlock, and I've got a kid now to boot. How did this happen? It seems like only yesterday that I couldn't keep a girlfriend and you ignored anyone who showed an interest in you. Blimey." John commented with a laugh._

_ "I always knew your settling down was inevitable, but I admittedly never thought it would happen to me as well." Sherlock replied, his eyes seeking out his new wife. He spotted her dancing with Lestrade. John watched in deep amusement as his best friend shot up from his seat and strode over to disrupt them._

_ "Still a five year old. A jealous, possessive five year old." the doctor muttered between his laughter._

* * *

Sherlock Holmes watched as his daughter bounded down the stairs upon seeing a cab pull up to 221B. She was wearing a dark purple silk blouse that made her very modestly sized chest seem a little more ample. He knew she was unaware of this fact and he saw no reason to enlighten her, even if he did disapprove of the garment (he'd caught young men admiring it many times). He also noticed that she was using a different scented shampoo. He had gotten a strong whiff of mangos when she dashed past him on her way to the stairs.

The detective listened intently as the front door opened and Ceridwen greeted their guest. She sounded vaguely like Molly in the cheerful manner in which she welcomed Allen Cormick. A deep male voice returned the greeting and Ceridwen made a surprised noise that cause her father to twitch rather violently. Her laughter was muffled and Sherlock relaxed. It was just an impromptu bear hug by the sound of it.

A moment later, two sets of feet could be heard coming up the stairs and there he was, Allen Cormick standing next to Ceridwen, looking happy and excited. Sherlock immediately conducted a thorough scan of his person.

Hair: blond, slightly long and wavy, combed this morning. Face: hazel eyes, chiseled facial features, strong jawline, shaved this morning, frequently smiles. Build: tall, athletic, swimmer...and fencer. Clothing: dark gray waistcoat over white shirt and black tie, sleeves rolled up, black jeans, black trainers, all inexpensive, wants to look presentable but casual, seeking approval, no crumbs or stains to indicate slovenly eating habits, well put together. Timex watch on left wrist, therefore right handed. Modest clothing, watch brand and style evidence of little concern for the acquisition of wealth beyond necessity. Not moocher. No signs of illness or illicit drug use. Takes antidepressants, must have bonded with Ceridwen through empathy. Body language attentive and curious, slightly nervous, but no indication of lust towards Ceridwen. Aware that he is being deduced, but has no problem with it. Intelligent. Conclusion: Allen Cormick is worthy of consideration but not trust.

Sherlock stood and approached the young man, holding out his hand for him to shake. Allen took it, looking slightly relieved.

"Hi, I'm Allen Cormick. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes." Just then, Mrs. Hudson appeared out of the kitchen looking rather curious.

"Allen, this is Mrs. Hudson, the landlady." Ceridwen put in and the old woman beamed.

"Hello, dear. Would you like a cuppa? I was just about to put the kettle on."

"That would be lovely, Mrs. Hudson, thank you." Allen answered softly. Before the landlady (not the housekeeper) disappeared back into the kitchen, Sherlock caught her exchanging conspiratorial glances with Ceridwen. "This is a very nice flat you have here. My mother wouldn't like it, though. Too many books. No tacky furniture. She has this crazy belief that the only book worth reading is the Bible. I have to lock my bedroom door when I'm away so she won't try to throw all my stuff out and paint the walls pastel pink."

"What sort of things do you read, Mr. Cormick?" Sherlock asked, gesturing for the blond to have a seat in the chair opposite him.

"I'm interested in anthropology and biology, so I've got a lot of books and scholarly journals on those subjects with a few sci-fi novels thrown in. I see you like to be well read in a lot of subjects, but particularly crime." Allen replied as he sat down.

"Yes, good." Before Sherlock could interrogate the young man further, his phone went off and he pulled it out of his pocket to answer it. "Sherlock Holmes...yes...oh, well in that case, I'll be right there...yes, one moment. Ceridwen, Lestrade's got a case for me. It's at least a seven. He wants to know if you'll be wanting to tag along."

"Of course!" the raven haired woman responded, perking up. Apparently Lestrade had heard her because her father's attention seemed to be focused on listening to the voice in his phone again. Suddenly, the consulting detective frowned deeply and his eyes went wide.

"You are not to participate in this one." he said gravely upon hanging up his phone.

"What?! Why not?!" Ceridwen shot back incredulously.

"Because it looks like we have a Ripper on our hands and the Chief Inspector and I agree that the danger for you would be too great."

"But-"

"No." Sherlock snapped.

"Mr. Holmes, could she do it if I came with and never left her side for a second? She clearly really wants to work on this case." Allen put in shyly. The older man stood up as his eyes narrowed at him.

"How much experience do you have with mutilated bodies, Mr. Cormick?"

"Well, the bodies of animals hit by cars never bothered me, but I imagine the horribly disfigured corpses of women are something very different."

"Are you any good with a gun?"

"My aunt was in the army. She made sure I learned. I'm a pretty good shot, I suppose."

"Very well. You and Dean Watson will look after Ceridwen. However, let me be clear that I give permission cautiously and the only field work you'll be doing is one visit to the crime scene. After that, you will either be in the lab at Bart's or here at Baker Street. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." the two young people replied in unison. Ceridwen like she might start skipping with joy as she and Allen followed Sherlock out of the flat.

* * *

The crime scene was an alleyway and when the three arrived, it was swarming with police. John and Dean were standing off to the side, waiting for them. The junior Watson scowled at Allen upon seeing him.

"Who's this?" he inquired testily. He didn't like how close this other blond young man was standing to Ceridwen.

"This is Allen Cormick. Allen, this is Dean Watson. You are to be my security detail on this case." Allen gave an awkward wave and smile. Dean had nothing to say to this and simply glared. John noticed and placed his hand on his son's shoulder, looking amused.

"Oi! Body's over here!" Lestrade called to them and they were saved from further awkwardness. Their little group moved over to area the Chief Inspector had indicated and observed a horribly mutilated woman's body laying next to a skip. "The poor girl was found this morning by a pair of teenagers. I need anything you can give me. We want to catch the sick bastard who has been doing this as soon as possible." This was the third time in a month that they'd found something like this. Now the Yard was desperate for Sherlock's help. The woman had long, straight black hair and tan skin. Her clothes were torn and stained with blood. The Holmeses both knelt down next to her to get a better look. Allen wore a slightly disturbed expression as he stared at the body.

"How can she look at the corpse of another young woman so casually?" he muttered.

"It's a Holmes thing. They shut down their emotions when they're working. When they look at a body, they don't see a person, they see a puzzle." Dean explained matter of factly. It did not have the effect of horror that he'd been aiming for. Instead, Allen looked intrigued.

"No wonder they're so good at what they do."

"John, what sort of weapon would you say made those lacerations?" Sherlock suddenly said, distracting them from the awkward conversation.

"Looks like a small blade. Pocket knife?"

"Yes, a Swiss army knife to be exact. Whoever's doing this isn't a common street criminal. If he was, he'd have used a switch blade, which is much longer and sharper, and a Swiss army knife wouldn't be in his budget. At least not one good enough to inflict this kind of damage. We're looking for a man with a comfortable income and smallish hands."

"Smallish hands?" Lestrade asked, looking confused. At this, Sherlock glanced at Ceridwen, as if to say 'your turn'. The woman reached into her pocket and pulled out a Swiss army that her father insisted she carry at all times. She held it out, grasping it firmly in her hand for everyone to see.

"Being female, my hands are much smaller than a man's usually are. This makes it much easier for me to make controlled, precise movements with the blade." she explained. "John, why don't you hold it." She passed the Swiss army knife to the doctor and it immediately became clear what she was on about. "I imagine you'd have a lot of difficulty making those marks on anything, let alone a body."

"Yes." John responded tersely before handing the item back to Ceridwen.

"Dean, you want to be a profiler. Can you tell us anything?" the consulting detective spoke up and Dean nearly jumped with surprise. He hadn't expected to be called upon.

"Well, er, the man behind these murders views his work as art, that much is clear. He made no attempt hide the body, so he wants attention."

"Good. You're just missing one big detail. He doesn't just want attention, he wants Scotland Yard's attention. It's a threat. The last two victims were connected with the Yard in some capacity. I guarantee that when this one is identified, the same will be true of her." His words were met with dead silence. Everyone who had heard was looking straight at Ceridwen.

"Allen, Dean, take her home and don't leave her until I get there." Sherlock ordered. The young woman opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her. "You are off the case. No exceptions. Go home. Now." Ceridwen glared angrily at him, but still allowed her friends to guide her away. Sherlock felt guilt in his gut as he watched her go, the hurt, dejected look in her eyes burned into his brain. He tried to bury the feeling, knowing that he'd only done what was necessary.

* * *

"It's not fair!" Ceridwen seethed as she lay curled up on the sofa at 221B. "I know it's particularly dangerous for me, but I can handle it and he knows that!"

"CJ, it's not about whether or not you can handle it. It's about your dad not being able to handle it if something happened to you. When you two were looking at that corpse, I could tell that your dad was thinking about what if it had been you. It was in his body language. He cares about you more than anything in this world and that combined with the fact that he's at that stage in his life where he can't accept that you're now a grown woman makes for a very protective father. That's what's going on, even if he doesn't realize it himself." Dean told her as he brought her a cup of tea. She grumpily sat up and took it, not looking her friend in the eye as she did so. Before Dean could move to sit next to her, Allen was there.

"You're right, but that doesn't mean that what Mr. Holmes is doing is right." the other blond said and Dean didn't miss the look of appreciation Ceridwen flashed at the man next to her. He grimaced, but before he could say anything, his phone chimed.

"Excuse me." He took his phone out and read the text he'd been sent. It was from Sherlock Holmes and it read: '_You don't like Allen Cormick, do you? -SH'_. Dean immediately replied with '_No, I don't. Why? -DW'_. Only a few seconds later he got the response _'We're on the same page, then. Keep an eye on him and don't leave Ceridwen alone with him. His lack of visible flaws makes him untrustworthy. -SH'_. Dean answered, smirking a little, _'I'm already on it. -DW'_.

**A/N: So, what do you think? Is Allen a shady character and they're right to be weary of him, or are Sherlock and Dean just being a pair of paranoiac men who need to learn to let go?**


	22. What's Left

**A/N: Wow, I did not expect to be updating so soon. Yay for plot bunnies and encouraging reviews. Just a heads up, this chapter is very emotionally intense. I hope you enjoy it.**

Chapter 22: What's Left

No one knew gratitude like Dean Watson being rescued from hours of watching Ceridwen and Allen effectively cuddle on the sofa. Sherlock Holmes arrived at 221B very late at night to relieve the two blond men of their duties. With them gone, the detective hung up his coat and looked over at his daughter, who was now stretched out on the sofa and facing away from him, intently ignoring him.

"Now is not the time to be childish, Ceridwen." he said sternly. He received no response. "I need you to understand that I'm not just being paranoid. All the evidence suggests that you are a very likely potential target. I'm not taking any chances. I promised your mother I wouldn't let anything happen to you and I intend to keep that promise as long as I can. In death, if I must."

"Yes, and that's worked out _superbly_." Ceridwen sneered, referring none too kindly to all the terrible things that had happened to her in the last eight years. Sherlock blinked. Did she...resent him? The thought made his insides clench.

"I'm...sorry." he replied softly, almost to quiet for Ceridwen to hear.

"Sorry doesn't heal the scars." Sherlock was particularly struck by this because Molly had once said the exact same thing to him.

"What do you want me to do? Let you back on the case? It won't make anything better. Learn to choose your battles, Ceridwen." At this, the young woman turned over and sat up to glare at him.

"I hate being shut out and locked away."

"So do I, but necessity overrides want." There was a long silence between them in which Sherlock momentarily disappeared and returned with a large cardboard box. He placed it on the coffee table in front of his daughter and then sat down next to her. "I was told to give this to you when you became an adult." Ceridwen gave a bemused frown at this and slowly opened the box. Inside was a small collection of her mother's most prized possessions, including a cherry print jumper, a diary, two ring boxes, and a memory stick. "The locket was supposed to be in there too, but after..." Sherlock paused, clearly uncomfortable with talking about Molly's death. "...it made you calm down and stop crying." Ceridwen immediately reached for the memory stick and plugged into into her laptop. She pulled up the first video on it and pressed play. Molly appeared on the screen. She looked young and happy with her life.

"Hi, Ceridwen. If you're watching this, then I died before you grew up. I'm really sorry and I hope your dad has taken good care of you. If you ever feel sad and alone, I want you to remember that I love you and I know you're strong enough to make it through anything. You've probably grown up to be a beautiful young lady and I wish I could've seen you fall in love and get married. If you do have someone, don't let your dad scare that person away. Only you can decide what's right for our heart. I'm proud of you, no matter what career you're choosing to pursue and I'm sure you'll be great at whatever you do. I've got to go now. I can hear your dad telling you about controlled explosions in the kitchen. If we're lucky, there will still be a kitchen when I get over there." Suddenly there was a loud popping sound and then the beeping of the smoke detector. "SHERLOOOOOOCK!" Molly yelled and there came the distinct sound of a small child's laughter from off camera. "I love you." the woman whispered affectionately before hastily turning off the camera. With the video over, Ceridwen sat completely still, continuing to stare at the screen.

She spent the rest of the night watching and rewatching the collection of home videos stored on the memory stick. There was one she watched fifteen times in which it was summer and they were at the Holmes Estate. Sherlock was showing her, Dean, Sefton, and Leland the treehouse (though it looked more like a ship than a house) where he had spent his brief childhood pretending to be a pirate. She was perched on Molly's shoulders and Dean on John's. Leland and Sefton were both licking enormous rainbow swirl lollipops. According to the filmmaker, Mary, who was making a rather humorous running commentary, the candy had been given to them by Sherlock after he had been expressly told by Mycroft not to let them have any sweets. Everyone seemed happy and it made Ceridwen's heart ache every time she watched the video.

There were hundreds of photos too. There was one for each of her first four birthdays and Christmases. Half of all of them were of taken while some sort of experiment was happening. A few of them were silly, like one that looked like it had been an attempt at taking a serious picture of Sherlock and Molly holding Ceridwen, but the tiny girl had decided that she wanted to crawl on her father's face and Molly was almost doubled over with laughter as Sherlock attempted to detach Ceridwen from his head.

Only after closing her laptop did Ceridwen realize that she had been crying. She looked up to see that Sherlock had moved to his desk and was reading something on his computer. He was in deep concentration. He was working. Taking a deep breath and brushing the excess moisture from her face, the raven haired woman picked up her mother's diary. The pages were well thumbed and covered in the ballpoint ink of Molly's neat handwriting. Ceridwen began from page one and learned more and more about her early childhood, her parents' relationship, and things no one had ever told her the further she read. Her parents had loved each other deeply. Molly described Sherlock and Ceridwen as the best things to ever happen to her and more important than anything. The last entry was the day before Ceridwen's fifth birthday and while the young woman had manage to stay composed all through her previous reading, these words had her sobbing...

_...Sherlock and I have decided to have one more child. We've had no luck yet, but we're trying. Wouldn't it be lovely if Ceridwen got to have a little brother or sister? I hope it's a boy. That way Sherlock won't feel quite so lost about raising a child and Ceridwen will get the brother she said she wanted. We can name him Gawain Layton. It's Welsh enough to honor my dad, unusual enough to make my husband happy, and posh enough to satisfy his mum. I can see him now. He'll grow up to look just like his dad, except he'll have straight, brown hair and need glasses like me. He'll wear knit jumpers and that sweet, shy smile that Sherlock always has when he's trying to make up for upsetting me._

_ All these thoughts are making me awfully excited. I think I'll tell Ceridwen that we're trying to get her a sibling tomorrow as a birthday gift..._

...Ceridwen set down the diary on the coffee table an buried her face in her hands. Shaky rasps escaped her softly and Sherlock looked up from his work at the sound,wearing a concerned expression. Suddenly, the unnamed gray kitten of Baker Street appeared from underneath the sofa and hopped up onto Ceridwen's lap. She stopped and looked down at him. He mewed at her and started trying to climb her arm. She took him in her hands and stroked his fur.

"I'm naming him Gawain." she announced, sniffling and trying to keep her voice from cracking. Sherlock stared blankly at her for a moment and then smiled.

"You should go to bed. Yesterday was rough for you and you haven't slept in a while."

"Okay." Before she could even move in the direction of the stairs to her room, Ceridwen passed out on the sofa. Sherlock sighed and gently scooped her up to carry her to her bed and tuck her in like he did when she was small. He missed the little girl who used to scurry about the flat, always busy filling her head with information about the world around her, not knowing the pain of loss or the cruelty of others. He missed the woman who gave that little girl life and always made sure everything was alright in the end.

Sherlock went back downstairs and gathered her things neatly back into the cardboard box, thinking all the while that he wasn't going to let the last of that little girl disappear. He would catch this murderer and she would be safe and happy again.

* * *

When Ceridwen Holmes awoke, it was a day and a half later and she didn't remember getting into her bed. A knock came on her bedroom door and she groaned for the knocker to come in, thinking it was her father. It was actually Allen, bringing the smell of coffee with him. He smiled at her and she tilted her head at him, confused in her barely awake state. _Wait, Dad's not blond...Dad has blue eyes...Dad's never been less than pale his whole life...who the hell is- oh...__**oh**__! Dammit!_

Suddenly, Ceridwen turned pink and pulled her sheet up over her head. She looked a terrible mess. Her already unruly black hair was going in every direction, her blouse was untucked and twisted, and her skirt was riding up her legs. For Allen to see her like this was incredibly embarrassing (though she didn't understand why...it just _was_). He laughed lightheartedly.

"Good afternoon, Ceridwen. I brought you some coffee. Don't worry. I don't mind that you're not at your best. To be honest, you looked ten times worse when I first met you in maths. Besides, you manage to be attractive no matter what you're doing." Allen said, come over to place her mug of coffee on her bedside table. The young woman peeked her head out from under her sheets.

"You...you really think so." It wasn't a question, but Ceridwen still sounded astonished.

"Why not?"

"You don't even think my lips are too thin or my breasts are too small?"

"I'm guessing some idiots have said that about you before. Ceridwen, while you do have a very nice figure, what matters to me is what's in here." Allen bent over and tapped his index finger on her forehead. Ceridwen beamed at him.

"Thank you. If you're here, am I to assume my dad's out working?"

"My pleasure, and yes. Dean's downstairs making you a late breakfast. He said you'd be waking up soon and I see he was right."

"He's known me for as long as I can remember. He knows how I function. We've always been close." Ceridwen explained, taking a sip of coffee. It was still quite hot, which meant Dean's prediction was pretty much spot on.

"I don't think he likes me much. Have I done something wrong?"

"Oh, no, you haven't. It's just that after his...er, mum died, he's been rather like a guard dog towards me. He probably thinks like my dad that you're my boyfriend and somehow that's unacceptable to them."

"Oh, so...you and Dean aren't...?"

"No."

"And they think we're...?"

"Yes."

"And you have a problem with that?"

"I object to the way they're treating you."

"But not to the concept of me being your boyfriend as such?" There was a long silence between them after this. Ceridwen appeared to be thinking and Allen waited patiently for her response.

"I will not call anyone my boyfriend. Terms like boyfriend and girlfriend are words eleven year olds use to describe peers whom they believe they are attracted to the way adults are attracted to each other, even though what they're feeling is really just a very close friendship. The notion that such a label should be used by or on me is preposterous However, I have no objection to the concept of you being my partner or companion. Is that something you wish?" she finally answered.

"Y-Yes." Allen returned with a nervous grin.

"Then consider it so, but please keep in mind that I have never been in a relationship like this before." Ceridwen kept herself calm and logical on the outside, but inside, she was doing a victory dance.

"That's just fine." Allen reassured her, reaching over to entwine his fingers with hers. Gawain padded in through the open door and came straight over to leap up onto his mistress's lap. When Allen moved to pet him, the kitten hissed and scratched his hand.

"Gawain!" Ceridwen scolded, pulling the little gray creature away from her companion. Gawain continued to hiss at Allen when he tried to get closer to Ceridwen.

"What's up with your cat?"

"I haven't the faintest idea. For some reason, he doesn't like you at all. You might want to go back downstairs. I'll be down in a few minutes." Allen did as she suggested and Ceridwen made a note to research cat behavior. Ten minutes later, she was in the kitchen, showered and changed into fresh clothes. The quality of her breakfast was a reminder that Dean had paid attention to his parents' labors in the kitchen.

"So, ehm, you two are-" Dean began awkwardly.

"Yes." Ceridwen interrupted bluntly, not even looking up from her newspaper until she sensed that Dean looked very displeased. "Problem?"

"Yes, problem, CJ! How can you trust him so much so quickly!?" Dean burst out, standing up straight from his original position of leaning against the kitchen counter. He gestured towards Allen, who looked rather shocked and affronted.

"I'm sorry, have I done anything to make you believe me untrustworthy?" the hazel eyed man asked, puzzled. Dean ignored him.

"Whenever he's around, you don't act..." There was a pause in which Dean appeared to be attempting to find the right words.

"Go on. I don't act like _what_?" Ceridwen demanded, narrowing her eyes.

"You don't act like...well, _you_."

"You're presenting a very weak argument, Dean."

"What's he done to make you all openly emotional and everything!?" Their voices were raising very quickly.

"That's none of your damn business!"

"Did you notice he has awfully small hands for a man his size!?" These words were met with a very hard slap to the face that nearly knocked Dean over. He barely had time to register the pain before Ceridwen had pushed him against the wall, gripping his shirt collar.

"Don't you _dare_ suggest that Allen Cormick is a homicidal rapist." she snarled quietly before shoving Dean none too gently towards the door. "Get out." she ordered. Her friend didn't move. He was determined to do what Sherlock had asked of him. "Get. Out. Or I will throw you down the stairs." The young woman's voice was very dangerous. Dean had never heard that tone from her before and it scared him so much that before he had even realized what he was doing, he had bolted out of 221B.

* * *

"What do you mean, she kicked you out!?" Sherlock growled into his phone as he sat in a taxi on his way to Waterloo Bridge. "Idiot! Well, you can't do anything about it now. She's only been that angry once before and let me tell you that the only thing to be done is to let her cool off. I'll tell Mrs. Hudson to keep an eye on them." With that, the detective hung up and looked out the cab window with a concerned expression. A minute later, he got out and told the cabbie to wait before seeking out a homeless woman.

"Any spare change, sir?"

"There you are." Sherlock said, giving her fifty pounds with a note wrapped inside. The woman beamed at him.

"Thanks."

* * *

"Mrs. Hudson, Allen and I are going out to get dinner. We'll be back in not too long." Ceridwen called. It was late evening now and Allen had mentioned that he was famished.

"Oh, are you sure, dear? I can make something for you." the old lady replied, watching as Ceridwen hustled down the stairs, putting her blazer on as she went. Allen stood up from the sofa, smiling.

"No, it's fine. I'm rather in the mood for Egyptian cuisine."

"Alright, Ceridwen, but please don't stay out too long. It's getting dark and you know there's that horrible man about."

"You don't have to worry, Mrs. Hudson. I'm trained in martial arts and I've got Allen with me." With that, the couple left.

* * *

Sherlock grimaced upon receiving the call that Ceridwen and Allen had left Baker Street together. He wanted to believe that Mr. Cormick was everything he claimed to be, but evidence was stacking up rather quickly against the young man. He needed to look at Allen Cormick's hotel room and know for certain whether he was the man they were searching for. He needed to know if his daughter was safe in Allen's hands.

He arrived outside a modest hotel, paid the cabbie and went in, pretending to be Allen Cormick's father and lying his way into getting a room key. As it turned out, the blond's room was immaculate. His things were placed neatly in their proper places about the room. There was nothing to suggest that the occupant was sadistic.

Sherlock moved to the bathroom. Everything was perfectly neat and clean in there as well. He opened the medicine cabinet to find a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, and a box of cotton swabs. At the cotton swabs, the consulting detective frowned and tilted his head to side. He picked up the box and carefully examined it before opening it. As expected, it was full of cotton swabs. However, one of them had a tiny reddish patch on the tip. He took and out and looked at it more closely. It was blood.

In moments, Sherlock Holmes was out the hotel and flagging a taxi to take him to Scotland Yard. There, he went straight to Anderson.

"Get this blood sample analyzed. I need to know who's blood this is as quickly as possible." he demanded.

"Hold on a minute. You're not my boss." Anderson shot back. Sherlock let out a frustrated growl.

"My daughter's life may be on the line. Would you dawdle if it was Annie's?" This was enough to spring the man into action. The two were almost to the lift when Anderson's phone went off. He hastily answered it.

"Hello? Sally! Is everything alright? Calm down. What are you on about? He's right here. Okay." The brunette quickly handed his phone to Sherlock. "It's Sally. She wants to talk to you. Says it's about Ceridwen." At this, the detective snatched the phone and pressed it to his ear.

"This is Sherlock. What's going on?" Upon hearing the answer, the black haired man's face went completely blank. "Do not speak of this to anyone, do you understand? Good. I'll be there as soon as I can." He hung up and handed the mobile back to Anderson stoically. "Get that sample identified. I'm going to your flat. I need to assess the damage." Sherlock then turned on his heel and strode briskly away.

"Damage? What damage?" Anderson called after him. No reply was given.

**A/N: Ooh, I'm a bad person, aren't I? Things are about to get hectic and scary and I left you all with a rather big cliffhanger. This fic doesn't have more than potentially five chapters left before the end (and it will be a happy ending, despite the dark places this fic is about to go). I'm really nervous about the quality of this chapter. What do you think? ~T.Z.**


	23. The Balancing Act

**A/N: I'm sorry it took more so long to update. Life has been once again very unkind to me. I really hope this makes up for the long wait.**

**WARNING: This chapter contains vague mentions of non-con and general violence.**

Chapter 23: The Balancing Act

Sherlock Holmes arrived at the Anderson residence in record time. Weston Lestrade let him in when he knocked. He didn't speak until he was standing in the sitting room, looking at the young woman wrapped in a blanket on the sofa.

"What happened?"

"Weston was walking me home after taking me out to dinner. We spotted a tall, blond man...attacking Ceridwen, overpowering her. Weston shouted and the bloke ran. She was pretty badly hurt when we got to her. She couldn't stand up. We had to carry her. She passed out not long after that." Annie Anderson explained, her voice trembling. Sherlock proceeded to fire off several texts before drawing his attention back to where he was.

"Dr. Watson is on his way. Weston, contact your brother and tell him what's happened. He'll know what he needs to do. Annie, where is your mother?"

"I'm here." Sally announced as she entered the room. "What do you need?" She was all business, as usual. That would be helpful in this situation.

"Ceridwen needs privacy. Do you have a spare bed she can use until her family moves her?" Sally nodded at this and she, Annie, and Weston set to work with whatever Sherlock directed them to do.

John arrived not much later with Dean following close behind.

"Where is she?" the doctor asked. Annie directed him to her room.

"Mr. Holmes, is there anything I can do?" Dean asked.

"Once your father has done his job, stay with her, Dean. Stay with her until Sefton comes to get her."

"Yes, sir. And where are you going?"

"I'm going hunting." the detective replied gravely before disappearing out the door.

* * *

It didn't take much effort for Sherlock to find Allen Cormick. He was, as deduced, lurking not far from Baker Street, clearly expecting for Ceridwen to be taken back there. The detective sprung into action the moment he saw Allen. He leapt from the shadows of the night and brought down the young man with a single, well aimed blow before he could even register that he was being attacked. Allen didn't have a chance to draw his knife. He was pinned in a very painful position and couldn't move. The detective released his wrath on the young man and by the end, Allen was broken, bloody, and barely conscious.

"Go on. Kill me. I know you want to." the blond taunted, his laughter mixed with gurgles.

"For what you did to Ceridwen, you don't deserve something as kind as death." Sherlock snarled, though a part of him desperately wanted to rip this man to pieces. Allen continued to laugh.

"Cecilia sends her love." At this, Sherlock froze. He knew exactly who Allen was referring to. He stepped back from him, an expression of shock and rage on the detective's face. "Go on. _Kill me_."

"No. You're going to answer for your crimes by standing trial and being sent to prison for the rest of your miserable life. It will happen. I will ensure it." Sherlock replied coldly before taking out his phone to send a few texts. Minutes later, the police and an ambulance arrived. Lestrade and Sherlock watched as Allen's now unconscious body was hauled away.

"So...you did that to him?"

"Yes." There was a moment in which the two just looked at each other, trying to read each other's thoughts. "Are you going to arrest me for assault?" Sherlock finally asked.

"No."

"Good."

"How's, er, Ceridwen?"

"She's in John's care. He will repair as much of the physical damage as he is able and then my nephew will take her away for private treatment." Lestrade didn't ask why Ceridwen hadn't been rushed to the hospital. This was an intimate attack and Sherlock would only trust a doctor he knew well with his daughter's care. The consulting detective had also expressed that he didn't want the public to know this had happened. Greg understood. He was enraged by what Allen had done as well and if the press heard about it, it would ruin Ceridwen.

* * *

Sefton Holmes arrived at the Andersons' home to take his cousin away in a black car. Dean had demanded that he come with, but John told him no. He knew how the Holmes family worked. He and Dean would just get in the way and he explained this to his son, but the young man was practically inconsolable. He paced restlessly around his father's flat, not knowing what to do with himself and thinking of nothing but what had happened to Ceridwen.

"If I ever get my hands on Allen Cormick, I'll kill him. I knew something was wrong with him, Dad. I _knew _it. And CJ wouldn't listen to me. He changed her. Weakened her. Made her so smitten that she lost sight of herself and didn't see the danger. He showed her just a little of the right kind of sympathy and kindness and she was putty in his hands. I should have done something more. I could have saved her. Oh, God, CJ'll never forgive me."

"Woah, woah, calm down, Dean." John stopped his son mid pace and placed his hands on his shoulders. "Listen to me. It's not your fault. Not even Sherlock could really see this coming before it was too late, and he's the most observant man in the world. The blame for what has happened is entirely on Allen. He took advantage of a young woman who was experiencing a difficult and vulnerable time in her life. He is such a good actor that he convinced us all that he was a good man worth giving a chance. Don't destroy yourself over this. Ceridwen will survive and she will have justice." At this, Dean hung his head in resignation and let out a long sigh. Only a few moments later, John received a text from Sherlock telling the doctor that he had found Allen and that the criminal had been rushed off to the hospital once he was 'done with him'. John shared this news immediately with Dean. "If I know Sherlock Holmes, Allen Cormick is in a world of pain right now."

"Good." Dean replied darkly and his father frowned.

"Be careful with that vindictive streak, son."

"You don't have to worry about me. I know the difference between justice and vengeance." With that, the young man retreated to his room.

* * *

A few calls and a cab ride later, Sherlock Holmes was sitting at a visitor's booth in a prison. His jaw clenched the moment he set eyes on the woman he was here to see. She came in smiling as maniacally as ever and sat down in front of him. Her very gaze burned with madness, but the detective was determined to look her straight in the eyes. They picked up the phones that would allow them to communicate, but didn't say anything for a long moment.

"Did Ceridwen like the little present I sent her? I bet that boy made her scream." Cecilia Moriarty spoke and Sherlock's left hand balled into a fist. He glared at the woman in the most menacing way he knew how. She laughed. "Oh, I do love that expression on you, Mr. Holmes. I bet you'd love to bust through this glass and throttle me, wouldn't you? Delightful. Did you know that I've taken a special interest in your little girl? I've done so much for her over the years. The German teacher case when she was ten, the car bombing case when she was thirteen, the arsonist case when she was sixteen, and now Allen. Those were all me and they've made sweet Ceridwen such a wonderfully fragile-"

"Enough!" Sherlock barked angrily. "So even behind bars, your poisonous tentacles have been able to reach out into the world and drastically shape my daughter's life?"

"Yes, and doesn't that frustrate you, Mr. Holmes. It's all your fault, really. You underestimated me. I quickly made a lot of friends here and that has made it very easy for me to have fun. Maybe if you'd taken me more seriously, you'd have put me in the custody of your dear big brother." Sherlock was silent at this. He just stared at Cecilia for a long while until he managed to formulate a response.

"Sadism on your part does not magically make me the villain here, Cecilia. And just because you managed to reach out into the world from prison for eight years does not make you as clever as your father. You are nothing compared to him. You will never be like him, so it's time for you to stop trying. It's pitiful and disgusting to watch." This finally managed to elicit a reaction from the brunette. Her grin faltered. Sherlock had hit her weak spot. "Your just a damaged girl trying to make something of herself out of the dregs of her origins." he went on, finally having found an effective attack. Cecilia's eye twitched. "You have made the grave error of irreversibly damaging that which I care for above all else and for that, I am going to make sure that you live out the rest of your existence in as much misery as possible."

"I'd like to see you try. I do not fear death, pain, or imprisonment."

"But you do fear isolation. Without others to manipulate, you are nothing."

"It doesn't matter what you do to me. My work will be done by the time your brother locks me away." Sherlock gritted his teeth at these words before a guard came over to take Cecilia away. "Toodles, Sherly. Send little Ceridwen my love." She blew a kiss at him and the detective felt like he was going to be sick.

* * *

It was five in the morning by the time Sherlock arrived at the Holmes Estate. Sefton was there to greet him, leaning casually against a pillar with his hands in his pockets.

"Where've you been?"

"Getting answers. How's Ceridwen?" Sherlock replied as they walked up the grand marble staircase.

"Stable, but she has yet to awaken. The doctors say there won't be any permanent damage beyond a few scars." Sefton explained and watched his uncle think on it for a moment. He was relieved, that much the young man could tell. "I've sent word to Leland and Dad. They're working on keeping this off the radar."

"As I expected. May I see her now?"

"Yes." The two men came down a hallway which contained the rooms of all the members of the family who were not permanent residents of the estate. The second one on the left was Ceridwen's. Sherlock firmly rapped on the door and a doctor answered. She let them in without question.

Ceridwen lay unconscious beneath the sheets of the bed. She was covered in bandages and hooked up to several machines. The consulting detective felt something sink to the pit of his stomach. It was the feeling that he'd failed Molly again. He pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed, staring at his daughter's face, which was the only part of her that seemed undamaged.

"Cormick would have to have known all about her fighting skills to have been able to harm her like this. And he didn't touch her face. There is a specific purpose there. What purpose? From what I gathered by observing Cecilia Richards, it's a way of mocking us. She's keeping her pretty for the cameras because she wants this story to hit mass media and completely ruin Ceridwen's life." Sherlock explained, reaching out to gently place his hand against his daughter's cheek. "We're going to need Neil Lestrade if we're going to thwart Cecilia. I've had his brother send word." Before much more could be said, Ceridwen began to stir and her eyes eased open. She could make out two figures looking down at her. One had dark curls and the other neatly trimmed brown locks.

"Dad? Sefton?" The young woman's voice was barely a whisper and they knew what she had said more from reading her lips than from hearing her.

"Welcome back, Ceridwen. How are you feeling?" Sherlock greeted softly.

"Like I've been hit by a train." Her voice was stronger now with an unexpected sense of humor in it. Could it be that she didn't remember what had happened to her? The sudden look of realization on her face a moment later gave the answer.

"I personally derailed the train that hit you." her father assured her. An odd smile made it's way onto Ceridwen's features at this.

"I knew you would." She almost seemed happy and it was unnerving to watch. She noticed the confusion on both men's faces and spoke again. "You're wondering why I'm not suffering a horrendous mental break." Sefton nodded and something akin to a laugh escaped Ceridwen (though she winced at the physical pain it brought her). "Ye of little faith. In the time I've been unconscious, I've...changed." It seemed she didn't know how to describe what had happened to her in her mind, but she definitely had a strength of will now that hadn't been there before. "When will I be healed enough to walk?" she asked.

"One week." Sherlock answered, watching his daughter intently. Even in her damaged state, Ceridwen seemed to be shining with a determination and calm control that had so much been a part of her late mother. Ceridwen's inner Molly had finally emerged to pick up the once fragile child inside and put her back on her feet.

* * *

In the end, Cecilia's plans were foiled. The most the public ever found out was that Ceridwen Holmes had been severely injured in the apprehension of Allen Cormick. She was given the credit for solving the case and the masses were given the slight fiction that there had been an epic fight between the young woman and the murderer ending in a victory for justice. There were a few nosy reports who wanted to know why Ceridwen was in private care instead of at a hospital, but they were swiftly dealt with. Neil Lestrade continued to work diligently to stop any attempts to reveal information on the internet, his efforts including the creation of a rather quiet and ruthless virus. Leland had been so pleased with him that she had asked him to marry her. Even more shocking was that he had said yes.

At Allen Cormick's trial, Ceridwen was called as a witness and she testified with a smile on her face and her arm in a sling. She reveled in the frown of deep-seated anger and frustration that she got from her ex when she smirked at his lawyer's inability to provide evidence to defend him. Leland and Sefton had made sure there was no proof that she and Allen were personally connected. He was convicted and Ceridwen caught his eye when they were taking him away. She had made it clear to him that his attempt to thoroughly break her had backfired. She was stronger than before. This was Cecilia Moriarty's last attempt to push her off the balance beam that she'd been teetering on ever since her mother's death, but the balancing act was over and she'd made it to the other side without falling. Now she was standing firmly on the ground and as she looked at Allen Cormick for the last time, her blue eyes were filled with a smugness that she knew infuriated her enemy to no end.

However, despite her new strength, Ceridwen's mental struggles had not gone away. Immediately after the trial, she went home and locked herself in her room. Sherlock became worried and came up to knock on her door.

"Ceridwen? Are you alright?" he asked gently. He knew she didn't respond well to him being commanding or harsh.

"Yeah. Yeah, Dad, I'm fine. I just need a few moments alone is all." came back a quivering voice an a sniffle. It was clear to Sherlock that she was crying and after all these years, he finally knew what to do. There was a long pause before he spoke again.

"If there's anything you need. Anything at all. Just tell me. I'm here." he said. There was another pregnant pause and the detective was about to turn around to go back down the stairs when the door opened and a puffy eyed Ceridwen wrapped her arms tightly around him.

"Thank you. For always catching me when I stumble. For always being someone I can trust." she sobbed into his chest. He returned her hug without having to think about it and he knew that if Molly could see him, she'd be proud. Sherlock and Ceridwen just stood there for a while until the young woman had let all her tears out and was ready to pull away form her father's comforting embrace. She smiled gratefully up at him and he brushed the last of her tears away.

"Why don't you come down and play the new piece I wrote with me?" he suggested and without further comment, the two descended the stairs and went out into the sitting room. Sherlock gave Ceridwen some sheet music and took up his violin. She sat down at the piano and they began to play. When they were done, Ceridwen turned to speak to her father.

"I'm leaving tomorrow."

"I know." He'd seen the half packed bags laid out on her bed. "You're not planning to come back." He'd seen the tags labeled 'Jacklyn Hooper'.

"I don't know. I need to get away from this island for a little while. I need to go someplace where not everyone has heard my name and seen my face. I need a fresh start."

"I understand. You'll keep in touch?"

"Of course. Don't telling the others I'm going. They won't understand."

"I won't say a word. How are you getting to the airport?"

"Sefton is driving me. He's just bought himself a new Jaguar. As you can imagine, Uncle Mycroft disapproves of such a vehicle. If I recall correctly, Sefton's response was 'I don't care how much my father twirls his brolly disapprovingly, I'm a grown man, I'm keeping the Jag. End of discussion.'" They both laughed at this, but then the conversation grew serious again.

"Dean Watson will be upset."

"I know, but he'll get over it. He'll have Weston and I'll admit Annie isn't so bad to be around anymore. She should really go by Annette. She's twenty, not five-"

"Ceridwen, you mean a great deal to Dean. If you go without saying anything, he will not handle it well. When he heard that Allen Cormick had harmed you, he was ready to kill for you. In my experience, that is the mark of a deep emotional attachment. Do not treat this lightly." Sherlock advised and his daughter hung her head.

"I know it will hurt him, but I can't face him. He was right about Allen and I didn't listen. I pushed him away. Maybe someday he'll forgive me, but until then, I can't even look at him." She sounded thoroughly ashamed of herself and Sherlock's expression softened.

"Alright."

* * *

Sefton picked his cousin up early the next morning. Sherlock watched them go from the window, hoping that one day he'd get to see Ceridwen return to Baker Street. An hour later, Dean Watson showed up asking if his best friend was up yet and could he see her. The detective stared blankly back at him and watched the young man's heart break when he told him that Ceridwen wasn't there.

"Where is she?!" Dean demanded, distraught. Sherlock had promised not to tell anyone that she was leaving, but that didn't mean he would stop certain people from figuring it out.

"Come in." The young man followed Sherlock up to 221B. The detective led him all the way to Ceridwen's room. Within a few minutes, Dean came to a revelation that shocked him to the core.

"She's leaving." he muttered, sounding lost.

"If you go now, you may reach the airport in time to catch her." With that, the blond bolted out of the flat and flagged down a cab, telling the driver there would be a generous tip if he got him to Heathrow in record time. Twenty minutes later, Dean was running through the airport, looking for the thin, dark haired woman who meant the world to him. He saw her on the other side of a wall of glass. Desperate and afraid he was never going to see her again, he banged on the glass to get her attention. The sound reverberated loudly through the terminal.

"CJ! _CJ!_" He saw her stop and look around along with half the crowd and her eyes widen upon seeing him. Good. He had her attention. "CJ! PLEASE DON'T GO! I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, though Ceridwen didn't need to hear him. She could read his lips and so could many of the other people in the crowd who were watching. They knew he was looking at her and she was speechless. She didn't know how to react. An old woman standing nearby leaned over, smiling, and spoke to her.

"That young man would probably run to the ends of the Earth for you, dear. If you feel at all the same about him, I suggest you go to him." But how did Ceridwen feel about Dean? At that moment, she had no idea. There was a long pause as she just stood there, analyzing the situation and how she felt about it. She stared at Dean, would was frozen in place, eyes wide and fists pressed against the glass. He was breathing heavily from exerting himself so much and he seemed to be waiting for her response with no small amount of fear.

Before it even registered in her mind, she was running flat out to get to him. He had always been there for her. He was smart. He was kind. He would do anything for her and ask nothing in return. He knew her. He understood her. He loved her and as her body carried her to him as fast as it could, she realized that despite her conviction that she would never be able to fall in love again after what had happened with Allen, she loved Dean back.

They froze for a moment as they came three feet from each other.

"Dean, I think I love you. I-I don't know what to do."

"Is it alright if I show you?" At this, Ceridwen slowly nodded and the blond closed the space between them. He took her face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers. The people in the crowd cheered and clapped. Ceridwen went still in shock for a second, but then put her arms around Dean's neck and kissed him back.

**A/N: Well, a lot certainly happened in this chapter. I'm not at all confident this is of the best quality, but there you are. On the upside, everyone who was shipping Ceridwen and Dean and/or Leland and Neil now knows they're canon, so to speak. The next chapter will be the epilogue in which I will wrap everything up and possibly make you cry (sorry). Thank you so very very much for all the support and feedback you given throughout the course of this story! ~T.Z.**


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